Of Magic and Mayhem
by Nallasariel the Weeper
Summary: AF x HP In which War is declared between Wizards and Fairies, Artemis Fowl manipulates, Juliet is 'Fwoopered', Hermione is righteous, Holly can't plan, McGonagall is melodramatic, Dorian Grey is in love with Lenore, and Butler is seiged by Paparazzi.
1. Introduction

Disclaimer:

My brain may be little, but I know very much,

Of _The Lord of the Rings_ and such and such,

But it matters little what I find,

Since Rowling and Colfer are certainly not mine.

* * *

**Of Magic and Mayhem**

**Part One of the _Of Magic and Mayhem _sequence.**

**By Nallasariel the Weeper**

_Beta-read by Hunter-of Fairies (Fairy-Hunter at Criminalty)_

* * *

**Two things before this begins:**

**I've decided to change this to the HP fandom, instead of AF. My beta and reviewers tell me that AF is not a requisite, so you can probably all understand it without having read the books. This'll also be changing between HP, AF and 'Crossovers' categories as I update chapters. Be forewarned.**

**All chapters up to 'Librarian's Nightmare' are now safe, although I have not gone through and posted the beta-ed versions yet (Fairy-Hunter is being a bit lethargic.) Please do not remark on A/N's and stupid mistakes from ****Ch.**** 5 to 23 or so—they have all been noted and shall be (eventually) fixed. I'm just re-ally slow at updating.******

_Introduction amended as of Novemeber __October__ 10, 2004_

* * *

Introduction

* * *

**Artemis Fowl: A Psychological Assessment from "The Teenage Years"**

_By Prof. J. Argon, Brotherhood of Psychologists_

_Commissioned by the Lower Elements Police_

* * *

Artemis Fowl may be one of the more peculiar individuals to walk upon the face of the Earth, and his infamy may very well one day rival that of Nero or Attila the Hun. His criminal enterprises have led many post-stamp countries to the brink of civil war, and more than a few men to unwise leaps off of rather tall buildings.

For this reason, amongst others, Artemis has made many enemies. Enough for even his great intellect to lose count. Most hated him for the rest of their lives. Some tried to assassinate him. A few went through with their plans. All were never heard from again.

Thus it was that Artemis Fowl developed a rather keen instinct for survival. His home, quite literally a castle, was transformed into an impenetrable fortress, building over the existing foundations made by his presumed-deceased father. His bodyguard Butler, reputed to be the best in his profession and rumored to have a covert past, eventually submitted to his overwhelming sense of caution and let his sister Juliet aid with his duties. They both grew sick of Artemis' tireless endeavors, and looked for a respite. Little did they know they would find it very soon in a very unexpected form. One that even Artemis' widowed mother would approve of, had she ever been told.

Magic.

You see, not so long ago Artemis had discovered the secret race of Fairies, the 'People', living beneath the surface and only coming above for missions to keep their race secret from the 'Mud-Men'. Artemis, being the ingenious Irish twelve-year-old he was, took advantage of this and managed to swindle gold from the LEPrecons. Quite a lot of gold. Thus it was not so inconceivable that he had made yet another powerful enemy.

But there was something he hadn't noticed whilst reading their own little book of secrets, aptly named 'The Book'. Something three heated enemies had tried to forget—and, as Artemis would later discover, were trying to erase it entirely.

The past.

* * *

**Important! Please Read All of the Below.**

If you are one of those chapterly reviewers, please refrain from sending reviews every single time. It makes it annoying and harder to respond, which leads me to:

All (relevant) reviews shall be answered personally via email. Due to some flamers that responded in a most immature fashion to my habit of critiquing _The Lord of the Rings _stories, I have been forced to institute a _Signed Reviews Only _policy. If you don't have an account, feel free to email me or search me out at the Criminality forum.

Critiques are welcome. No, they are _begged_ for. If you expect this story to get any better or for me to become an improved writer, please send your full and unadulterated opinion in. If you hate it or love it, don't just say that you do. Tell me _why_, since it is otherwise useless.

Please do not remark upon slight OOC anomalies. Ones like Juliet with a girlie bent (Ch. 1-5) were all done on purpose. You'll find out why I did it the way I did as you go along, and most shall be amended and/or explained as the plot continues for legitimate reasons that _all, _no matter how seemingly unlikely, have a basis in canon. Yes, I shall quote the books. Yes, I shall be leaving insanely long A/Ns when I do so.

Saturday is the update-day for a **single** chapter at a time. That is also the day I try to get my (rare) editations up, for the sake of my poor, aching head.

Also, I am aware of the time gap in-between _Artemis Fowl _and _Harry Potter. _That is my bit of major AU for the story, Artemis actually going to Hogwarts aside. This may or may not be a plot point.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	2. Nailpolish

Disclaimer: I am a hobo. I own nothing. Nothing of Colfer, and nothing of Rowling. Can I have some change please?

_Re-done as of __August 25, 2004___

Chapter One: Nail-polish 

**Fowl Manor**

**Rural ****Dublin, ****Ireland**

* * *

****Artemis frowned at the letter before him, a frightening thing to behold. It didn't frown back. The letter just sat there, looking so innocent in its elegant green handwriting, mocking him.  
  
It had come to Artemis' attention violently: he and the owl that had carried it collided in the hallway outside of his room this morning. After a small flurry of downy feathers that Butler promptly rescued him from, he had brought the letter to his study, forgoing all thoughts of breakfast. Pity. It was waffle day.  
  
_"To Artemis Fowl the Second  
His Bedroom  
Fowl Manor  
Rural __Dublin__  
__Ireland__  
  
It has come to our attention that you have discovered the existence of magic on your own. May I be the first to congratulate you on your success, and I assure you, you are the first Muggle ever to do this. We must, however, request that you join the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although it is no burden, if you do not undertake to develop your magical abilities, we will be forced to remove your magical memories. It would be my reluctant duty to do so, but do it I will if I must. Professor McGonagall shall be along shortly to discuss the terms of you going to this school. Here is a list of needed supplies, which can all be found in Diagon Alley."_  
  
And so it went on, listing not only books on transfiguration and vampires, but outrageous ingredients, like 'eye of newt' and 'toad spittle'.  
  
His glacial-blue eyes skimmed the letter again, a faint frown creasing his pale skin. Although the greater part of his mind thought this was an elaborate scheme to swindle money from young criminal prodigies like himself, the fact that they knew that he knew about magic still remained.  
  
Of course, it could be some immature prank the People down in Haven pulled. They were still licking their wounds from the last round, but for all he knew of their current state of affairs this could be some sort of preliminary to an ambush, luring him with the prospect of gold. Unlikely, yes, but only six months ago he had thought that of the sheer concept of magic.  
  
But how to get proof? There was that slight chance that it could be real—Elves were real; they were every bit as mythical as witches, and nearly as romanticized in contemporary literature. So why not Hogwarts?  
  
Time for some research.  
  
He turned in his leather swivel-chair towards his custom computer. Every few minutes he brushed his black hair back from his face, briefly interrupting the sound of rapid typing. 

Within fifteen minutes he was flying through the LEP's database, scanning through the intricate spiral lines of Gnommish hieroglyphics.

He paused at a page heralded by a picture of a large castle surmounted by a distinctly Medieval-style crest. Translating quickly, he began to read the page. To his growing excitement he found that not only did Hogwarts exist, but was red-flagged by the People's Council.

His brow furrowed suddenly. Would they have posted this just to further undermine him? It was very possible—Foaly's security encryptions had taken him days to unravel after he discovered the website, which was saying quite a lot. This could be the final thread in the web of entrapment. McGonagall could be nothing more then another blue-rinse, and they would be the ones to let it through…

No. He was completely without doubts when it came to the fact Foaly had not discovered his 'surfing' of the LEP site. The Council would never allow him to look at such detailed schematics of Haven and Atlantis and remember to tell the tale.

So it was true. Intriguing. Artemis could hear the clink of piled gold inside his head as schemes unfolded. Alchemy, invisibility, levitation… all at his disposal.  
  
Artemis rang the bell that would bring Butler and Juliet running. "I have something to tell you…"

* * *

Juliet blinked large blue eyes at Butler. "So you want me to go to this… Diagon Alley… and help Artemis pick out his new school things." They had been through this five times already, but Juliet could scarcely believe it. She blinked again. "Without you."Butler nodded, regret of losing such an opportunity to buy new 'toys' clearly evident on his face. He would simply be too noticeable, and it would be a good experience for Juliet to be living alone in Hogsmeade. She could keep her temporary Principle close by, and Butler could visit his sister 'Alice' without suspicion. He would check up from time to time as well, between juggling his new ward Angeline and doing some research of his own on the Wizarding world. 

They were in one of Butler's favorite rooms in Fowl Manor: His own. It was one of two places, the other being Artemis' suite, Angeline had not yet dared to touch with her obscenely embillishing hand, remaining sparse and clean as he preferred. Off-white walls and a soundproof lining insured protection from both the hot Irish summer and Juliet's blaring music, and the Spartan appearance to the twin-sized bed was only amplified by the fact it was the only other piece of furniture in the room besides a barely-filled bookshelf (His clothes resting with his impressive arsenal within one of the cleverly disguised panels in the wall).

But Juliet ruined the aura. Simple blue cloak Butler had for her or no, her long, gleaming blonde hair, bright pink _Hello Kitty_ t-shirt not even reaching her midriff let alone her low-slung jeans, her over-the-top make-up… Butler could only be thankful she wasn't wearing those 'thongs' he had been unfortunate enough to see seen in an ad in the newspaper. Then again, how would he know otherwise?  
  
Juliet sighed. "So I suppose the only question is what I'll wear while shopping."

Butler, taking her all-too seriously, drew the aquamarine-blue cowl that matched her eyes perfectly.  
  
Her eyes grew larger, stretching the limits of her glittering-green eyelids. "_That_ thing? It doesn't match my eye-shadow! It doesn't even match my _nail-polish_!" She did not seem to care that it matched her eyes; the fashion idiosyncrasies of teens were fathomless.  
  
The huge manservant just shrugged. Although he was used to this, sometimes he swore that she was the only person in the world to take beauty over practicality. Obviously, he had never been to America.  
  
Ignoring the teenager's protests, Butler pushed the voluminous cloak on to her shoulders. None of her many (and well-concealed) weapons could be seen. Only daggers were in those numerous sheaths, because Artemis said technology didn't work in the magical world. That meant no Sig Sauers.  
  
A small cough interrupted them. Much to Butler's eternal embarrassment, it was Artemis, pointing at the door. Perhaps Juliet was right in calling him an old man. "A cat is waiting outside the main doors. Our friend from Hogwarts, no doubt."  
  
Somewhat shamefaced, the manservant walked out his door to the grand entryway just around the corner, Juliet trailing behind with the expression of a knight whose sword was rendered dull. The main doors, which had been very well refortified after a certain Troll attack, loomed like the Trojan gate it was modeled after. Butler flipped one tapestry over to reveal a bird's eye view of a small tabby-cat, spectacle-like markings around its eyes brought to sharp detail by the high-res monitor. It scowled up at the hidden camera as if it were a misbehaving child, somehow twisting its feline features into a frown.

Butler looked at Artemis questioningly, who had taken position in front of an equally austere portrait of his dead father that hid a safe-room. He nodded, and stepped until he was closer to the tense Juliet. Caution was the first thing that had been schooled into his mind, even before the quadratic equation.  
  
The (senior) Butler opened it, spare hand trailing towards the Sauer at his waist as the door slid noiselessly on its hinges. The indignant cat strutted into Fowl Manor, glaring around at them as if it was indeed Artemis' father, coming back to reclaim his wealth. Tail high in the air, it flounced past the tense Butler and stopped. A slight, very non-feline smile curved its thin lips when it saw how tense everyone was. _It _suddenly became a _she_ in roughly the time for Butler to draw that nearby Sauer.

She ignored this coolly, hazel eyes not even sparing him a glance, and walked right on up to the duo in front of the oil painting.  
  
Much to Artemis' shock (A very rare occurrence, indeed), the witch before him looked almost exactly like those 'romanticized witches from contemporary literature'. Black hair only lightly touched by gray was coiled beneath a pointed hat, accenting her angular features and classical Headmistress appearance. Long black robes swept the immaculate Persian rugs below, and through the shifting folds of onyx he could see where another layer of green dusted with intricate Celtic knots lay. Her lips, still thin despite the transformation, seemed eternally glued in a frown, eerily like the one Artemis wore at that very instant.  
  
"Put those guns away." She ordered Butler in the tone of a schoolteacher saying _Put__ those scissors down; you might hurt someone. _And, with a nod from Artemis, Butler complied. Running with gu—_scissors _was apparently a common source of injury, wherever she came from.

Silence reigned upon her throne as McGonagall and Artemis openly examined each other. McGonagall seemed to be looking at Artemis with a transformed red correcting pen, circling all the bits she didn't like and leaving it for all to see. Artemis looked away first, his own abstract pen beginning to run dry.  
  
"Have you told your parents?" she asked eventually, her words crisp and unburdened by all the ink she had used.  
  
"No. Nor do I plan on it," he replied icily, meeting her eyes and deliberately trying to make McGonagall at least lose a bit of patience with him, if not ink. Hurried words led to blunders, which lead to threats, which led to more information. Charm, however disgusting when used in large doses, did have its uses.  
  
"Then where are they?" She asked this suspiciously, sensing something was afoot immediately. Schoolteacher instinct.  
  
Artemis cleared his throat. "My mother is in France, taking a vacation from the pressures of home."

"I wonder why," Juliet muttered beneath her breath. Alas for her, but it echoed in the acoustically perfect entryway, magnified tenfold. McGonagall swiveled her unflinching gaze onto the American teen's, and she fell silent, remnant echoes aside.

Artemis continued, not feeling the least bit sorry for Juliet. "My father is somewhere in Northern Russia, presumed dead. Undoubtedly you already know this, but that is just as well."  
  
The witch squinted at him. Old age apparently affected Wizarding kind as well, although the wrinkles upon her face had destroyed nearly all thoughts to the contrary. "I do believe I remember now." McGonagall looked thoughtfully into the distance, lost in her own thoughts for a few moments before continuing. "You will need to be tutored during the tail-end of summer at Hogwarts so you can be placed in a class of your own age. I believe that to be sufficient time, judging by the profile Dumbledore kindly lent me?"

Artemis nodded. He had no doubts about that.

"I will provide transport to Diagon Alley," McGonagall continued, watching the boy's face carefully, "and a Portkey to Hogwarts for when you're ready. Also—"

"Three things," Artemis interrupted.  
  
"Yes?" asked the witch briskly, not liking being stopped in mid-speech. Those that had dared done so before had either detentions or equally harsh words waiting for them.  
  
"One: Can I bring my companion Juliet to Diagon Alley, and then on to Hogsmeade? Two: My mother assumed I'm going to Saint Bartelby's. She had her heart set upon me going there. Three: What is a Portkey, and how does it work?"  
  
McGonagall sighed, somehow making that sound like an _It is your fault I have this migraine._ "We'd rather you not bring a bodyguard with you even just as far as Diagon, but, unfortunately, we cannot legally stop you." 

When Artemis raised his eyebrow, she continued tiredly. "They aren't used to the Magical world, and, generally, Muggles and Magic don't mix. For the second query, you should know better then to ask me that. It will be kept secret from her, at least until your father gets back."  
  
Artemis couldn't stop himself. "So my father's alive?" he blurted out, sounding eager and hopeful. He managed restrain himself from anything further, although both of the Butler siblings gave him a sideways look.  
  
The Professor massaged her forehead with worn fingertips. "Yes, he is alive. But I cannot tell you more then that."

Artemis was inclined to believe her. People who knew things kept their secrets well, and what little they revealed only brought on more questions. After all, Artemis should know. 

But if he was alive… Something sparked in the back of his mind then. He may not like to admit it, but it was a touch of optimism.  
  
His new-found hope was slid into the subconscious as McGonagall continued. "If you touch a Portkey, you go to the enspelled location. In this case, Hogsmeade, nearby Hogwarts." She glared at them again. She obviously hated migraines. "Happy?"  
  
It was Juliet who butted in this time. "How are we getting to Diagon Alley?"  
  
The witch smiled thinly. "Magic." Turning quickly, she said, "Be ready to leave in a hour," and she disappeared. A small tabby-cat trotted its way past Butler, and out into the fresh air again through the still-open door. Butler looked slightly peeved that he had neglected such an obvious security hazard. That was two today. Three strikes and you're out.  
  
Artemis turned to the two stunned bodyguards. "We have work to do."

* * *

Exactly fifty-nine minutes later, Juliet turned to Artemis before the front door. "Are you _sure_ all my clothes are packed?"  
  
He nodded, gesturing towards three bulging pink suitcases between them. Butler being occupied with checking the perimeter, it had been up to him to carry them down the staircase with nearly fatal results.

"And my nail-polish?" There had been an entire, albeit smaller, bag devoted to the dubious art of cosmetics. Juliet should have known by then what happened to such detestable frivolities that came under Artemis' whim.  
  
"No."  
  
"WHAT?!" Juliet shouted at him, long braid flying behind her as she ran back up the mahogany stairs to her room. "HOW do you expect me to live a YEAR without my NAIL-POLISH?!"  
  
"Because," Artemis stated calmly as he steadily watched the unmoving door, "you are not a Muggle in Diagon Alley, nor in Hogsmeade. You are a young witch whose parents could not afford for you to go to Hogwarts, so you moved to Hogsmeade for a job at the Three Broomsticks, with your wealthy uncle Jacob visiting often to see how you are fitting in. You are Alice VanHartesveldt."  
  
Juliet paused halfway up the steps, pretty face twisting itself in inherent Butleric thoughts. Then, slowly as all those unwilling to accept defeat are, she turned and walked down the stairs again, golden head bowed. He was right. As always. Stupid genius.  
  
Right on time, the tabby-cat squeezed through the crack between each of the oak doors and smoothly transformed into the scowling Professor McGonagall. Her frown deepened as she saw Juliet's three hot-pink suitcases, all stretching at the seams.  
  
"Is this really necessary?" she asked primly, eyeing the pink luggage with obvious distaste. Obviously, she thought they were Artemis'. Obviously, she was very, very wrong.  
  
Stiffly, he replied, "They are Juliet's, madame."  
  
"Mademoiselle."  
  
The two stared at each other for a few moments, twilight-blue eyes meeting hazel. This time Artemis was prepared and his 'ink' did not run dry.  
  
Juliet broke the silence, unknowingly shattering the contestment. "Can I at least bring some eye-shadow?"  
  
Artemis barely resisted the urge to snort in disdain. "Can we go please go now?" he asked, tone edging towards the line dividing a simple query and outright begging.  
  
"Gladly."  
  
She flicked out a slender rod, and made several complicated-looking gestures that Artemis, of course, tried to memorize. Fowl Manor disappeared in a whirl of white fog and golden sparks, one piece of pink luggage bruising Artemis' shins as it tumbled through towards a break in the mists.. A whole new world beckoned, just waiting to be robbed.

* * *

Juliet with that obnoxious girly-girl bent was done on purpose, and has, believe it or not, a basis in canon. I shall not spoil it yet, it being a (minor) plot-point later.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	3. Knock Turn and Diagon

Disclaimer: Don't you get a sense of deja'vu while reading these? Same old, same old.

_Rewritten as of __September 26, 2004_

Chapter Two: Knock-Turn and Diagon

* * *

**The Leaky Cauldron**

**Diagon Alley, London**

****  
They appeared in what seemed to be the room of a Medieval inn. Two large, comfortable-looking beds with thick patchwork quilts occupied one side of the cozy room, and a cheery fire blazed in the stone fireplace. All four pieces of luggage were perched precariously on a pine-wood table groaning beneath the weight, and a partially ajar door revealed a washbasin and a mirror. Another door was firmly closed with what seemed like a primitive key-hole in it.  
  
Artemis turned to the Professor to question this reasoning, only to find that she was gone. Pursing his lips in an unconsciously McGonagall-like fashion, he slipped the fairy-computer prototype out of his lone suitcase. Ignoring Juliet's security sweep of the room—mostly consisting of a check to see if they had the complimentary shampoo and conditioners—he sat down on the closer of the two beds and unfolded the box. Typing quickly, he uploaded the precious few gigabytes of information downloaded from the LEP web site.

He pursed his lips again, a faint frown wrinkling his pale brow. McGonagall said she was going to bring them to Diagon Alley with very little explanation as to what they were to do when they got there.

Artemis checked a convenient map of Diagon while Juliet continued her inspectation to the mirror, seeking any imperfections that could be hidden cameras. The inn they were most likely in, judging by the handsome view of a very unmagical world outside the crystalline window, was _The Leaky Cauldron_, which was perched on the gateway to Diagon and the entire Magical world.

* * *

It took him nearly an hour to arrange their day, during which Juliet began to unpack. Flags on the diagram had given him short yet detailed answers to divine the purposes of the buildings, which he silently thanked Foaly for. Nothing else could have been expected of the Fairy he knew only through descriptions and reputation.

Gringotts would have to be first. According to the diagram, the gnomes there were capable and even adept at using 'Muggle' computer systems. He did not doubt they would be able to access his account, Swiss or no.

When Juliet saw him pasking up the cube, she could not have been more relieved. Searching for a vial of nailpolish through her clothes got a little boring after a while. "About time," she stated, and tapped her foot impatiently when she reached the door.

In a few minutes he joined her by the door, and without a word walked down the hall, pausing only to lock the entrance with the key he had found buried beneath Juliet's largest bag.

"So where are we going?" she asked eventually, walking next to Artemis down a stairway.

Artemis paused before he answered. "Gringotts, the wizard's bank." He paused again. "The only wizard's bank. And you forgot your cloak."  
  
Juliet scowled at the side of Artemis' head, but accepted the proferred keys and fled back up the pine stairs. She had hoped to 'accidentally' leave the dratted thing behind, and walk amongst wizardry in her favored jeans and pink _Hello Kitty_ t-shirt. Well, Domovoi had to be given some credit. At least it matched her eyes.  
  
Artemis entered a room full of bizarre people, almost all in pointy hats and flowing robes like the one Juliet had left behind. Many had full tankards of golden liquid—wizard beer?—foaming at their finger-tips, varying expressions of curiosity on their faces as he sidled his way around the edge of the room to the door on the other side.  
  
A tall, golden-haired man with a supremely satisfied face walked up to him, flashing a brilliant smile as he sat down languidly in a convenient chair. Artemis declined his invitation to join him, but stood by stiffly as he waited for Juliet.  
  
"New to Hogwarts?" the man asked asked, swilling down the contents of a massive mug. A quarter of it landed on his lilac underrobe.  
  
Artemis nodded cautiously, and made as to move out of the room. The strange man snatched his arms, unwilling to lose his target of unconversationial blathering.

Juliet, who had come back down the stairs at that exact moment, sprinted towards him, knocking over tables and people alike in her rush to save Artemis. Mayhem spread from her like the limbs through the air as she mowed a path through tavern patrons, beer seeping into the already soaking shirts of the men. Artemis' leech appeared not to notice.

When Juliet reached them the man appeared delighted, although the wizard-to-be waved away the dagger, once hidden in her combat boots but now drawn questioningly into her hand. The man was hardly dangerous, unless one were allergic to obnoxious smiles.

"I'm workin' there this year, don't ya know," he drawled on, squeezing Artemis' arm most painfully. "Name's Lockhart. Professor Lockhart." His eyes kept going crossed.

The boy disentangled himself from the man's fingers, quite aware that Juliet was laughing at him beneath her breath, and left before the impertinent man could make some other dull-witted comment. Strange man. Dressed in lilac and talked to Muggle strangers. Still, he had to have been drunk, his glass being a forty-two ounce schooner and it just drained with a final drenching. He began to have his first doubts about the quality of teachers at Hogwarts. 

Artemis paused uncertainly before the pitted and scarred door. Once he opened it there was no going back. As soon as he saw the wonders of Diagon, his schemes would forever be tainted by magical means, the world less simple.

On the other hand, the patrons Juliet had disrupted were sending evil looks their way, some of the shadier ones edging their way towards them. Wands that had seen better days—and more even fights—were firmly clenched in a dozen hands.

He opened the door hurridly.

Before him was a brick wall. A plain, ordinary brick wall. There was even a trash heap to one side and a cat squatting over it, yowling its black head off.

"What a letdown," Juliet said humorlessly. She had been almost as eager as Artemis to see Diagon.

Artemis ignored her, although he silently agreed with the statement. What was the secret of the bricks? This had to be the real entrance: He had forgotten the brick passageway, the final test, in his excitement.

The answer came to him swiftly, and he tapped an elegant finger to a pattern. When he was done he stepped back, a slightly smug smile on his face.

Nothing happened.

"Well?" Juliet asked, tapping her foot again. Artemis gave her an annoyed glance and tapped out the pattern again.

The bricks began to move this time, almost grudgingly. They spun on their mortar foundations as if held together with pudding, shifting postion as they parted in the center. An arched doorway began to appear, and swiftly solidified.

The black cat gave a final, ear-splitting yowl before darting through the brick doorway.

"How did you know that would work?" Juliet demanded, walking through the portal.

Artemis' smile resembled Morgan Le Fay's when she stole Excalibur. "The wear-pattern on the bricks, combined with the pattern of holes on _The Leaky Cauldron_'s sign. I suspect the reason why I had to do it a second time was because I did not have a wand."

Whatever breath Juliet had drawn for a reponse was stolen by the sight before them.

Diagon was full of things that he had only read in fantastical books as a child. Stalls lined the narrow street, some extensions of the spindly street-side shops and others completely independent. Happily bartering people were crowded along olde-world shops, arguing vigorously with the plots' proprietors for the universal Better Deal. Signs blurred through age shook gently with the vibrations from footsteps, and above them the sky was a narrow slit, the buildings made even more slender by the fact they leaned forward nearly five feet on either side. So busy looking about them, they didn't even noticed as they were picked up by the river-like crowd and were deposited at a street corner.  
  
However, it was hard to be lost for long in a magical world. After several minutes of browsing through some of the vendors' merchandise—and weighing in the thousands of plots spinning in his head—Artemis led Juliet towards the huge marble building at the opposite street corner.  
  
"Gringotts," Artemis murmured to himself as he reached the bottom of the open-air stairs, recalling the map. "Aurum est Potestas."

Several people, obviously with nothing better to do, stopped and stared at the young boy looking at the structure with something between intense concentration and a smile of cunning obvious on his pale features. Before they could be hooked in by whatever excuse for a police force they had here, Artemis began trudging up the steps.  
  
On the door, an inscription spread over the arched frame read:  
  
_"Enter, stranger, but take heed,  
Of awaits the Sin of Greed.  
For those who take but do not earn,  
Must pay dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors,  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, Beware  
Of finding more then treasure there."_

_We'll see_, Artemis thought. _We'll see._  
  
"Don't even think about it," Juliet warned, giving him a slight push through the entryway into a massive white-marble room. "I don't want a bad reputation here. Some people would actually liketo have a social life, and be able to get a date." She winked slyly at a passing young man, who continued on looking vaguely confused.  
  
Artemis's vampiric smile faded at that magical word, 'date'. Sometimes he could barely believe that the stalwart Butler was even related to her.  
  
They quickly made their way through the somewhat thinner crowds to a desk with a wrinkled _thing_. A gnome, perhaps, of the Wizard variety? He turned his thoughts towards the Gringotts entry in his LEP files. Intelligent, impeccable, and highly moral, thus prone to turn down bribes; very unlike the Lower Element's version. Not good odds to start planning a bank robbery with.  
  
The thing, which resembled a shriveled prune in a tuxedo, glared at him when they reached his desk. "Well?" it asked impatiently, squinting at them through antiquated bifocals. "Where is your key?" "I'd like to make a deposit in Muggle currency; pounds," he replied coolly, standing on a niche in the desk to get himself up at eye level. Juliet sniggered. "Five-hundred thousand pounds."  
  
When the gnome didn't even blink at the amount, he was surprised. So they weren't impressed by money. Of course, they could be barely anything else, being the keepers of most of the world's precious Galleons.  
  
"Name?" it asked, seeming rushed like an exceptionally crabby secretary. 

"Artemis Fowl the Second."

"Cash, or wired from an account?" it asked, still in the same hurried tones. Foaly was right about the electronics, at the very least.  
  
Doubts somewhat erased from his mind, he asked casually, "So when can I have it?"  
  
The gnome saw the speculative gleam in his eye. He said, in all seriousness a walking raisin could, "Now. And we'll get you if you try and trick us. We have your name, and we have our ways." It grinned in a way that made Juliet shudder. Butt-ugly and crooked brown teeth to match.  
  
"Now?" Juliet asked, coming out from behind Artemis to lean on the gleaming white counter. "In gold Galleons?" She popped a bubble from her gum, causing Artemis to give her an annoyed glance. Butler would have been vastly preferable.  
  
The thing stared back at her as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. For the gnome, it was. "Would you rather have it in a year on a silver platter with a bit of caviar and Darjeeling tea?"  
  
"I prefer Earl Grey, actually," Artemis cut in smoothly before Juliet could make another exasperatingly obvious remark.  
  
The gnome scowled, and disappeared into a doorway behind him for a few moments. When he reappeared, it was carrying two velvet-black bags, each fuller, if possible, then any of Juliet's suitcases.  
  
Seeing how heavy it would be made him blanch. He needed Juliet to carry his purchases, not his money.  
  
"Can you deposit all but a tenth of it in my name?" he asked, part of his mind imagining all the beautiful gold that must be in that sack. Aurum est Potestes.  
  
"Do I look like your maid?" was its sarcastic response.  
  
"It is your paycheck and your job to do so," Artemis replied coldly.

"Not to mention your certain lack of height," Juliet piped up.  
  
The gnome scowled again at the vampiric heir, and vanished behind the pillars. His return brought an elegant velvet bag that clinked melodically of gold Galleons, and a small silver key. "Keep it safe" was its last words, called after them as Juliet half-danced out of the Bank. Even Artemis had a bit more spring to his step.  
  
Shopping spree.

* * *

Hours later, as the last of the shoppers faded into busy inns of varied repute, Juliet staggered into their room with bags and packages hiding all but her brand new 'Elf Shoes' (Guaranteed to last a lifetime! Feet-warmer, air conditioning, arch support and de-odorizing, all in one!). Artemis followed with a thoughtful expression on his face, his long fingers fingering the lone bag, tasseled and black, that hung loosely on his waist. Newly bought robes, some of black and others that apparently matched his eyes (According to the hypocritically fashionable Juliet), were already hung up by his bed by the time he reached the threshold.  
  
Juliet was scurrying about like a frenzied hummingbird on steroids, darting into the innumerable bags, retrieving odd items, and putting it in its own place, whether on the mantelpieces or by the stone wash-basin. Some small part of his mind briefly wondered what would happen if he offered her some caffeine. He decided he didn't want to know, if only because he would be the one paying the medical bill resulting.

Within a few minutes almost all the merchandise had been placed somewhere, including her brand-new deed to a house in Hogsmeade placed lovingly on the mantelpiece. She was close to being worth her hundred-grand paycheck, but not quite. Too social for his tastes.  
  
He had his chosen list of supplies, and his rather criminal reason  
  
All that he now required was a wand.  
  
Plopping down into one downy bed, Artemis quickly faded into the realms of sleep, and recollections of the hectic day.

_"Must you insist upon that outlandish price?" he asked to the shady storekeeper, surprised unduly at the high cost of a half-decent book these days. If Foaly considered a book dangerous, judging by his opinion on matters earlier, it was bound to be interesting.  
  
They were in a store swathed in shadow. Heavy, moth-infested drapes covered the door, making the already gloomy room seem dismal indeed. Knick-knacks long since covered over by a veritable glacier of dust occupied every free shelf space, and antiques in thinning glass cases sat, long-forgotten, in half-lit corners. Artemis and Juliet had already rummaged through most of the stores, looking for their goal. Juliet had just found it in the proprietor's personal office, and Artemis was trying in vain to make him separate from it.  
  
"Ten Galleons," the black-clothed man rasped, "Take it or leave it." He reached out to caress the considerable money he had already swindled from him, long pale fingers stretching out like a spider stroking its prey. He had parted with an Invisibility Cloak and an authentic Egyptian _Book of the Dead_ dearly, and this last treasure seemed doomed to remain his.  
  
"Seven Galleons, and I shall not tell the Ministry about those eggs sitting on the fire." The man, whoever he was, was breeding dragons for the magical version of a black market. A black market that Artemis had plans for.  
  
The stranger thought about it for a moment, and made an executive decision. Spitting into an outstretched hand, he said, "Deal."  
  
They shook, and Artemis drew away from the handshake long before it was in the bounds of politeness to do so. Spit was disgusting, true, but he also did not know what sort of bond it would make in the magical world.  
  
Coins and the slender volume exchanged hands, and the duo began to walk out of the shop into the relative comfort of Knock-Turn Alley. __  
  
_Raving loony_, Artemis thought as he drew out the green and silver book and opened to the first page. Reading whilst walking was a skill he had developed quickly, being as short on time as he was.  
_  
"The Calling  
  
By Salazar Slytherin  
  
This be'eth a book of the magick art of calling mythical beasts and Faeries to oneself, and to obtain their powers in thy form. Beware of holly and silver as you learneth these mystick powers, for these substances will twist thy spells and magicks into other formes that defy thy will. They be strange and fey, a magick that is neither easy nor simple for Man to learn."  
  
_Holly and silver… Green and silver. The colors on the cover of the book. The colors of Slytherin._

* * *

The fairy-computer prototype? Do you honestly think that Arty made it in the few emotionally charged weeks in-between tAI and tEC? Since any criminal genius would have a similar scheme running through his head when faced with the prospect of such technology, I decided that he was building a prototype before tAI. Which means (probably) right after the original AF.

There is a line being drawn between AF and HP magic. You have been forwarned.

Namárië,  
  
Nallasariel the Weeper


	4. Holly and Silver, with a Side of Short

Disclaimer: Okally dokally! Ickle Artykins isn't mine-ally. Yet-ally…

_Rewritten as of __September 26, 2004___

Chapter 3: Holly and Silver, with a Side of Short

* * *

**Somewhere in Artemis' Head**

**The Leaky Cauldron**

_There__ was an endless sea of grass, stirred by a gentle breeze that created a shimmering series of ripples across its surface._

_Holly materialized before his eyes, resplendent in her green LEP jumpsuit and beach-ball of a helmet. The visor was up, revealing the upper half of her angular face._

_Artemis nearly ducked his head to avoid a_ mesmer _from her exposed hazel eyes. The realism of dreams was deceiving, especially considering the last was a surreal one of lollipops._

_"Dreams are an interesting thing, Artemis," Holly said, obviously amused. "But I'm sure you're aware of that."_

_Dream-Artemis raised an eyebrow. He noticed that he was wearing the new robes Juliet had jointly picked with him, and a green-and-silver tie. Slytherin?_

_"Yes, I noticed."_

_Holly continued, regardless of the _no, really _tone of voice. The Holly Artemis knew would have given his nose something to perk his memory with. Apparently, his subconscious did not appreciate the beauty of the truth. "And have you ever heard of an oracle?"_

_Artemis nodded curtly, intrigued despite himself. Greek prostitutes that took primitive heroine to induce a hallucination. Yes, he was familiar with them. Robert Graves had made sure of that. (1)_

_"You know what happened to them after they stopped?"_

_He nodded again, playing along with the peculiar dream. "They went insane. Their brain believes they cannot go on without it, and they eventually die."_

_Holly grinned, revealing vaguely pointed teeth. If they _were, _in fact, related to pterodactyls, they would have retained that, whether they were newly instated herbivores or no. "Let's say one of these priestesses got into a new supply of opium. Let's also say one of __Gaul__'s many minor warlords liked the idea of having an oracular wife."_

_Artemis' forehead crinkled like repeatedly folded paper, then smoothed out again. "Cassandra, or some ancestor?"_

_"Bingo," Holly said, winking roguishly. "And guess what was in that cup of Earl Grey you had at lunch?"_

_Artemis blanched, then looked thoughtful. "I thought it tasted queer—"_

_Holly's grin was like a trout in a river; a flicker, and then it was gone. "No, I'm just messing with you. Tea's different for _wizards._" She spat out that word as if it were a curse. Foaly had support in his words of the mutual hate between Fairies and Wizards—although, according to him, it was becoming increasingly one-sided._

_His eyebrow raised molecularly. "So are you suggesting that I am a seer of some sort?"_

_She kept a poker-face; surprising, considering he very much doubted they even played poker in the underground. "_I'm _not telling you anything _solid. _I'm just a figment of your imagination."_

_"Yet if you are entirely of my own creation," Artemis countered easily, "why have you told me things that I do not already know?"_

_Holly smiled thinly. "Maybe I'm lying. Of course, you wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyways. You can't consciously control yourself in a dream."_

_"Later, I will have time to think about this," he replied. "Later, I will have my body back."_

_Real-Artemis half-expected his dream-counterpart to turn around on the field and wave.___

_Holly stared at him for a few moments, then laughed uneasily. "Next time you dare get your fingernails dirty, Artemis, things won't be so good for you." It seemed to Artemis that her voice became deep and hypnotic, almost a if it were layered in bass _mesmer._ "Innocents will be lost, and minds shattered. Holly shall have to make decisions, and she cannot save everyone. Holly and silver shall cause irregularities, unpredictabilities, things that destroy perfection. It is all to blame on the stubbornness of c—"She stopped suddenly, her eyes loosing their far-away look as she slid her visor up. "Well, whatever. Maybe if you're good, I'll bring you a lollipop."_

_"I don't l—"Artemis started, but stopped as Holly buzzed up her wings and melded seamlessly into the flowing grasses. It was déjà-vu all over again, and he was positive his mind just put in that part about the lollipops to annoy him._

His eyes opened to a loud _snort!,_ graciously provided by Juliet.

Not yet willing to leave the surprising warmth of the blanket, he rolled his head over to look at Juliet.

She was snoring contentedly, with one hand draped over the dagger-sheaths she had pulled from numerous places on her person, and the other draped over the esker of as-yet unsorted clothing from yesterday's spree. Some things never changed: Artemis always ended up doing something physical for himself.  
  
Through sheer force of will he got out of the bed, and swiftly changed into a set of dark-blue robes that Juliet had aided him in picking. Shivering from the pre-dawn cool let in by a foolishly opened window, he crossed over to the pitted table in one corner. After rummaging through precariously-balanced boxes of purchases, he unearthed the gleaming ironwood chest. Intricate hand gestures, memorized with the help of the shop owner's mnemonic spell, ensued, unlocking the first series.

He drew a key from beneath his collared white shirt, where it hung on a thong, to undo the mechanical part of the lock. Magic was wonderful, yes, but he was almost positive the majority of wizards didn't bother learning how to unlock a Muggle bolts.

After sifting through the various products carefully packed away in the chest, he drew the Cube from its protective covering and settled back down on the bed.

Creating the Cube, as he had begun to call it, had been one of his more useful endeavors following his awareness of the People. Compressing technology and connecting otherwise unrelated systems had been an interesting challenge, although, according to Juliet, the aesthetic value of it was nil.  
  
The small blue cube hummed to his touch, opening up like a scallop. A keyboard and monitor slid noiselessly out, and he accessed the as-yet unread _Harry Potter_ files.  
  
Reading slowly to digest this information, he began to see why he was so famous. So he killed the most feared Wizard in a century without even trying? And was a successful student at Hogwarts, who had saved the Sorcerer's Stone from the dark wizard's evil grasp, and still managed to (more or less) keep out of the public spotlight? Not bad, for an eleven-year-old. Of course, that was what a lot of people said about him.  
  
"Artemis," Juliet said, coming up from behind him. She did not look like a morning person at the present moment. "What was with all that muttering? It kept waking me up."  
  
"A dream." He said it a little too hastily, folding the Cube up again.

She plopped down on the bed beside him, pulling her from its over-night braid. "If you need help with anything, you just need to say so," she said, sounding sympathetic. "I'm here for y—" Her hair, now unbraided, gave her an opportunity to look at it. The many stray strands from her sloppy weaving had tangled themselves in a complex knot, infinitely more so then any Alexander the Great ever had to deal with. Her dirty-blonde hair seemed like a giant rat's nest, with a rather bizarre background of pink silk pajamas. She leapt up again, sprinting over to the table and began digging furiously for her brush, much to Artemis' relief. Can't have her knowing too much about him. Magic opened too many possibilities into what one could do with even information about dreams or personal lives.  
  
Smiling slightly at the new complexities in his life, he began happily planning their day.

* * *

**Outside of Ollivander's**

**Diagon Alley**

"_Ollivander's__ Wand Shop_," he read from his list, absently chewing on the end of his outrageously long and fluffy quill. Juliet's pen, of course, but sometimes bad habits had to be given leeway.

They stood just in front of _Ollivander's_, their stillness creating an island amidst the river of people around them. Artemis' eyes were fixed squarely on the door, weighing the chances that he would burst in on someone else's arrangement. One-way windows were such a pain.

"Are we going in or not?' asked Juliet impatiently, flicking her now perfectly combed hair over her shoulder. It remained unbraided, since it was still in the drying process from the magical bath she had taken. "If you're going to take forever, we might as well go into _Violet's Shoppe _since I _do _need some dress robes—"  
  
Artemis hurried in.  
  
_Ollivander's_ was full of long, narrow boxes, filling the room up into the deepest of the haphazard hallways that branched from the main shop. Everything seemed so old, from the antiquated lamp to the mechanical register… and dusty. Despite his resolve to manage a dignified appearance, he sneezed. Damn dust mite allergy.  
  
A man wearing a cheesy tweed jacket, the sort one only saw in half-rate detective movies, came from behind a corner, smoothing back his mouse-gray hair. He gave the impression of being wise beyond his years, gray eyes fathomless as they scanned the new customers. He came to rest behind the cash register, and began rummaging with his register. Most likely clogged from all the dust.  
  
"I need a wand," Artemis enunciated clearly, trying to regain some of the dignity he had lost, "and so does mademoiselle Juliet here."  
  
The man looked at him knowingly, gray eyes sightless as they looked at each of them. "You're a Fowl, right?" he said at last, squinting slightly. "Of Fóle's brood?" 

Artemis nodded, mind racing. Magic must have its perks, if people lived that long.

Juliet came to the same conclusion, and openly goggled at the man. He only looked about fifty. "No WAY. That's like... as old as the dinosaurs!" 

Artemis shot her a scathing glare, which was answered by a shrug and grin.  
  
Perhaps Ollivander truly was old as the dinosaurs, since he did not appear to have heard that last remark. "I know just the thing for you..." He stepped back into the cluttered corridors from which he'd come, and rummaged around for a few moments. When he came back, he held three brown boxes delicately, and he passed one of them to Artemis proudly. He made Juliet lunge for the other two.  
  
He turned towards the Fowl heir. "Holly, a whopping fifteen inches, rigid, with a core of Incan silver from Macchu Picchu, and a veneer of phoenix tears. Made by my great-grandfather." Artemis, despite evidence to the contrary, found himself thinking of a Triceratops with a pointy hat.  
  
Artemis opened the box, careful not to look too eager, and grasped the long stick. It hummed beneath his hands, vibrating with near-familiarity. Green and silver sparks shot out of one tapered end, rocketing around the room like small scintillating dragonflies.  
  
"Green and silver..." murmured Ollivander and Artemis simultaneously. Juliet looked at both of them like they were loonies, and opened her own boxes.  
  
"Magnolia and Myrtle, ten inches, core of golden Unicorn hair, and a splinter of a Unicorn's horn." he said after the fireworks had faded, sounding unhappy to be parted from the two wands. "They are a pair."

Artemis frowned, looking Ollivander. The last of the fireworks faded from his own successful testing. "I thought it was customary to have _one _wand."

Ollivander shrugged in indifference, watching Juliet as she inspected her wand. "Recently, I have been experimenting with designs and, according to the Wandmaker's Union's research, young people would find the idea of two wands…" He searched for the right word. "'Cool'."

There was an edge to his voice that suggested he disliked the move towards pop culture instead of classical. Artemis could relate. Juliet could be awfully annoying sometimes.

He looked at Juliet suddenly. It was true she hadn't gotten a recommendation for magical training. Frankly, he couldn't see how any magical talent could have leaked into her bloodline at all. AT heart, she was still a somewhat naïve girl that was going to be dealing with things she had never dreamed of before—and he was positive her mental capacities would not be able to cope. She needed that boost that a wand would give her.

The only thing it would cost him was a very annoying girl if giving a wand to a Muggle was a no-no. And a few dozen Galleons.  
  
Juliet grinned. "Oh, so they're like twins?" She grabbed each of the wands, one in her right hand and one in her left, and pointed them at Ollivander. He flew back into one of his corridors at the magical blast, sending a mushroom-cloud of dust as the wand boxes cascaded around him. Artemis deigned to help him by keeping Juliet from the spilt wands. As the dust settled they heard "Thirty Galleons," come out like a whisper.  
  
Juliet laughing, they left the money (no tip) on his desk, and went off to the Owl Emporium.  
  
After pushing their way through the crowds (Done happily by Juliet), they finally made it in. Whilst going through what seemed like a zoo of animals, he selected a midnight-black Great Horned Owl. After Juliet pleaded in a most annoying fashion for twenty minutes, he relented and bought her the twin golden baby Kneazles she had been eyeing. Two pairs of twins thus far. Juliet seemed to like them since, in the words of Ollivander, they were 'cool'.  
  
He regretted that decision almost immediately after he left the rather smelly establishment, for she started cooing like a dove over her newfound loves. "My precious!" she crooned, tickling one's downy ear. One of the cats swiped her playfully on the nose. "You're so CUTE!" Suffice to say, he was not happy the next morning when he found that it had chosen his stock of 'Dragon Warts' as a litter box.  
  
As they walked back to the _Leaky Cauldron _they were bumped. It wasn't the bump itself that caused Artemis to groan—he had been touched quite a lot since Juliet had started paying more attention to her kittens then to road—but the bumper.

Lockhart looked much better today, probably because he had time to sleep off what must have been a very nasty hangover. His golden curls were freshly washed, and reeked of the scent of rotting rose petals. He wore not lilac but conservative creams and blues, and probably in a style that Juliet would approve of.

Of course, Juliet would probably have approved anything of Lockhart's in her present state of mind. The transformation was instantaneous; her carefully manicured fingers froze in mid-pet, Sassy Strawberry lips slightly apart. Her blue eyes, framed by mascara and eye-shadow, widened, taking in every bit of his lanky body.

Lockhart smiled in their general direction, eyes flickering towards where a solid wall of paparazzi advanced through the Diagon crowd. One hand reached instinctually for a bag at his waist, withdrawing a comb as he turned and continued on his way.

Artemis coughed, trying to catch Juliet's attention. "We really should be going."

Juliet blinked, turning away from Lockhart's suddenly retreating back. "Oh. Right. Where were we going to?"

Artemis pointed towards a store labeled _Flourish and Blotts,_ which was in the direction that Lockhart swaggered towards. "There."

Juliet nodded, hand scratching behind the feline's ears. It purred, the sound only slightly different from the traditional Muggle cat, as its brother was dropped into one of Juliet's bags to leave her hands free. "'kay."

The young Fowl heir looked at her sharply as they walked closer, money-bag clinking like a badly-played tambourine. "Focus, Juliet. We don't know everything about this place. Hostiles could be at every corner."

She nodded again, but her eyes still followed Lockhart as he disappeared through _Blott's_door.

Artemis shook his head at her behavior. One day they're ready to kill someone in a dozen extremely unpleasant fashions, and the next they'd do a lemming for him. Women.

* * *

**Police Plaza**

**Haven, Lower Elements**

Holly was not having a good day. Her shower had broken and sprayed her with mud-water, the front door had fused shut, the freezer defrosted and everything became a puddle on the floor, she had lost her keys, and, perhaps the most demoralizing of them all, the mirror broke when she looked into it.

Sure, she could _say _it happened because her next-door neighbor had suddenly turned up the music very loud when her radio-alarm came on, but she did that every day. And it was never quite timed like that. What did Root say for these situations? Some damn Mud-Man quote…

She muttered something extremely vulgar under her breath. Even the LEP standard _helmet _was against her, nearly suffocating her in the tunnels when the filters stopped working.

Yes, it was one of the more pathetic days for Holly. It was about to get much, much worse.

The Ops Booth, centered in the plaza Holly was crossing, opened suddenly as Foaly trotted out, looking very mad. Holly was brought to mind of a muted swear-toad by the unique expression of centaur rage.

"Short!" he barked, not bothering with the comm. Holly slid her vengeful visor up quickly, accelerating to a light jog.

Foaly almost never left Ops, and with his new addition of surround-sound and a fifty-centimeter monitor, he even spent his rec time there. Rumors had it that he was even petitioning the Council to add the centauran version of a futon.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she was ten meters from Foaly, slowing to walk.

She was answered with Root and Trouble coming from Ops, both looking very haggard.

"I know, I know," she said sheepishly, raising her hands into the air. "I'm late. And yes, I'm aware that there's no excuse."

Root seemed strangely unconcerned about this, instead turning to Foaly. His hue of beet-red deepened to a handsome indigo. "Well, _tell her._"

Holly turned to Foaly as well, looking very concerned. Root usually jumped at the opportunity to rip her to shreds for minor misdemeanors, like being thirty minutes late. Being female in Recon gave you know leeway. "Tell me what?"

Foaly rubbed his head. "You know Artemis?"

Holly already didn't like the way this was going. "Yes…?"

Trouble ruined the tension by spilling the beans. "He's going to Hogwarts."

A B'wa Kell goblin could have walked in and not be noticed.

"No," Holly whispered. "Nonononono_no_…"

"Yes," Foaly said grimly, looking over at Root. The blue in his cheeks had receded somewhat, turning him from plum to cherry. "And we've received orders from the Council—"

"…_No_nonono…"

"—to send a Recon force."

"_No,_" Holly said solidly, shaking her head. This _could not be happening to her._

Root looked at Holly, his face reddening again. "I've already signed out a shuttle to the surface, as well as the necessary science. DoubleDex all around"

Foaly made an indistinct noise deep inside his throat.

Holly looked between the three of them as if they were mad. She wished that she could just wring Fowl's scrawny little neck right now—

Something clicked in her mind as she associated that thought with where she would be going. Holly felt the future of her civilization come to rest squarely on her shoulders. It almost flattened her like a swear-toad beneath a troll's filthy feet.  
  
Trouble gave her a grim look. He seemed similarly uncomfortable with this new responsibility. As if Grub wasn't enough already.  
  
Why did these things always happen to her?

* * *

(1) Yes, that is what the Oracle of Delphi (Amongst others) _really_ was. The sanitized versions of Greek history and mythology tend to leave little things like drug usage and prostitution out. Try reading Graves more often. Can't beat his city-by-city approach to things.

If I got the drug wrong, feel free to correct me. It might have also been _Amanita muscaria,_ a fungi, instead of opium.

Namárië, 

Nallasariel the Weeper


	5. A Librarian's Nightmare

Disclaimer: If you don't know what this should say, you're either new to fanfictions, or someone who has very bad memory. Or both.

_Rewritten as of September 25th._  
  
Chapter Four: A Librarian's Nightmare

* * *

When Artemis ducked in after Juliet into the shop, the only thing he saw at first was books. They were in stacks on the floor that reached up past eye-level to the high ceiling, and wall-to-wall shelves that had row upon row of massive tomes. Some seemed ancient beyond compare, although others didn't have a speck of dust on them.  
  
The second thing he noticed was the masses of fawning witches mobbing Lockhart, the eye of a hurricane originating in overactive hormones. Including Juliet.  
  
Walking tentatively, he squeezed between a pair of brunettes, and tapped the younger of the Butler siblings on the shoulder. She turned around, about to say something along the lines of 'mind your own business, little boy', until she saw whom she had been interrupted by. She smiled apologetically, chap-stick raised for application.

Before he had time for one of his obscenely rude remarks, he was shoved behind Juliet, vision momentarily filled with the shifting blue cloth. After disentangling himself and glaring at all the witches that had dared stare at him, he peaked out from behind Juliet's tense body.

In a small opening in the multi-colored witches, two men stood. The difference between them was striking; the taller had silver-blonde hair tied back in a classical gentleman's ponytail, a custom smirk scrawled across his pale face. His clothes were tailored to fit, black silks and velvets the lot of them.

The other had a lanky frame, barely covered by threadbare robes nearly colorless from too much washing. His body was taut, tighter then a piano string, and his fists were clenched at his side. A blaze of carroty hair immediately associated him with a dozen or so similarly colored people.

Artemis, ducking further around Juliet, managed to catch the tail-end of what the blonde's words. "…and I thought your family could sink no further—"

Had Artemis not been shoved into the swirling maze of witches' cloaks, he would have heard a metallic _thunk_as a cauldron went flying.

The young Fowl freed himself from the tangled clothes and threaded his way towards Juliet's side once more. The push had thrown him deep into the heart of Lockhart's fangirls; the journey back was long and arduous, passing through the wide and the just plain big.

Juliet's hands were whitened at her sides, ready to punch. Her narrowed eyes were firmly fixed where a continuous rain of books was occurring on the far wall of the shop, obviously where a fight was taking place.

"Get back, Arty," Juliet said icily, not even turning. "Their kids look ready to join in too."

Artemis didn't even bother with the repetitive _Don't call me Arty_ reproach, looking closer at the first row of spectators. A small horde of red-haired children were clustered near the squalling fathers, some encouraging with cries of _"Get 'im Dad!" _or, in the case of the mother, Arnold On the other side, a sallow-skinned, white-blonde youth smirked at the outcome of the fight. His smug gray eyes kept flickering towards a black-haired youth amidst the red-heads.

Juliet gave him another shove, although this one was considerably lighter. "I said _go back!_"

He was preparing a retort on how the situation was _not _dangerous for him when he suddenly came face to face with someone's incoming fist. He ducked aside, and moved behind Juliet again like a dancer in _Ring Around the Rosies_.  
  
"Sorry!" came a voice from whatever had tried to hit him. A peak around the voluminous cerulean cloak revealed that another of those red-heads had been behind the punch. "I thought you were Draco for a sec there!" An outraged yelp proclaimed he had met Juliet, and was being introduced.  
  
Going around to Juliet's other side, he soon found himself looking again at the two men, the blonde one of them sporting a black eye and a customary sneer and the other only a bleeding lip and a rip in his patched robes. What looked to be a massive man—or a small giant—easily surpassing Butler's standards was holding them apart with two barely straining fingers. The top of his scruffy brown head scraped the high ceiling. Artemis silently commended him for his uncaring approach to how he looked.  
  
"Now see here," he said good-naturedly, as if they had not been attempting to kill each other moments before, "we are all gentlemen here," the blonder—and more bruised—of the two combatants raised a speculative eyebrow, "and we can surely sort out an agreement like them."  
  
The boy that had tried to punch him sniggered at this, despite a somewhat purpling eye. Surprisingly, what looked like to be his twin, also a red-head, did not. What was it with wizardry and red-heads?  
  
The white blonde man turned, expensive-looking robes torn in several places, and casually kicked a _Transfiguration for Beginners_ towards a red-head girl barely Artemis' own age. He was beginning to wonder about how extended Wizarding families were, and if that was just a side-affect of not having the modern conveniences of contra— "Here, girl," he said suddenly, interrupting Artemis' thoughts, "—take your book—it's the best your father can give you." He straightened up, his steps brisk and slightly limping as he left the shop. "Draco!"

The white-blonde boy Artemis had noticed earlier smirked at the red-heads gathering around the red-head father, receiving five nearly identical glares in return. After smoothing back his hair, he was swept up by the rush of fangirls following Lockhart out.

Artemis blinked, and smoothed back his hair as well. That was interesting, to say the least. Wizards seemed to act the same as 'Muggles'—they were both human, after all—but everyone seemed to _know _each other. Wizards must still work on a House basis, aristocrats or common folk. Just seeing how the red-heads—he thought he had heard the word _Weasley_said at one point—acted proved that. They acted as one against the white-blonde family, who had a somewhat more limited representation there.

He frowned, and stepped out from behind Juliet. His pale brow wrinkled with thought-lines, ignoring everything else in the rapidly emptying store. There had been a boy with the Weasleys whom he suspected to be 'Harry Potter', by the fact he kept trying to hide an elongated scar on his forehead by gaping passerbys. From the 'Harry Potter' file that Foaly had so graciously created, he had figured Harry to be more… bold. Egotistic. Not at all the scrawny stick of a boy that stood awkwardly by Mrs. (?) Weasley as she fussed over any scrapes he might have gotten from standing on the sidelines as her sons howled like banshees. He would need to study more of Wizarding recent events as well.

By the cash register, there was a loud _thunk_as some newspaper's photographer accidentally knocked over his tripod, followed by several cross-cultural words of surprise.

Artemis brought his gaze over towards the back of the store, firmly ignoring the fidgeting Juliet. Almost all of the witches were gone by now, undoubtedly hot on Lockhart's trail, leaving only harassed-looking mothers that were probably looking for their children's books for school. As a result, the battered floor was cleared, showing books in various stages of destruction. A dented cauldron in one corner was graced with both loose sheaves of parchment and another red-head girl struggling to pick it up.

He looked at the red-headed throng again, eyes wandering between them as they spread out like trained deer hunters through the forest of books. They appeared to be in the process of leaving—the majority of them, in any case. The large, plump woman Artemis had assumed to be Mrs. Weasley was attempting to apologize to the terrified shopkeeper, who still appeared to be in shock from either Lockhart, the photographer that had quickly nabbed several old-looking books or the fight. A few were still perusing the shelves, pretending nothing had happened.

Artemis sidled over to the nearest shelf. Juliet, sensing _nerdy-mode _being turned on, began helping the red-heads that the mother had ordered to help the shopkeeper (Who kept trying to get them to leave so he could report the photographer).

One elegant finger lazily tracing the heavily embossed book spines, he settled into the little-used _browsing mode_, which very much unlike the _nerdy-mode _that was quite nonexistent to Artemis' functioning styles. _Flourish and Blotts _seemed to specialize more in what Artemis called, 'Wizarding Pop Culture' – in other words, everything Artemis couldn't care less about. He sincerely doubted he would be challenged too much at Hogwarts, judging by how far short of his expectations Wizards had fallen. All in all, he would probably need to make a visit to a store specializing in reference materials.

He turned to leave, only to trip on a brunette painstakingly taping ripped parchment back together and slipping them into _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_.

The _Spell-O-Tape _jerked out of her hand, skittling across the floor along with the fluttering _Encyclopedia_. Newly decollated pieces flew out like patched butterflies, flapping their colorful pictures mockingly at the prostrate girl.

She picked herself off the ground hurriedly, rubbing the small of her back where Artemis had tripped over her. "Watch it!" she snapped grumpily, glaring at him from beneath a messy bush of brown hair.

Artemis narrowed his eyes at her. "You were on the ground," he pointed out calmly, brushing imaginary dust from his suit. "You can't expect one to look on the ground for people lying in the way."

The girl's mouth opened to respond, then shut itself again. After several moments she spoke. "You're Artemis Fowl, aren't you?"

Artemis blinked. Twice. "Did the bodyguard give it away?"

"The attitude," she responded dryly, then smiled at his furrowed brow. "Ou le media; prends ton choisi. Je m'appelle Hermione Granger. Allez-vous aller au Hogwarts?" (1)

Artemis smiled inwardly. There was at least one person of intelligence at Hogwarts, at the very least. "Oui, en la année deux." (2)

Hermione blinked, switching back to English. _Encyclopedia of Toadstools _lay forlornly on the ground. "You didn't go through year one," she stated flatly.

"I don't need year one."

Hermione grinned suddenly, sticking out her hand. Artemis looked down. It was covered with ink. Her smile faded, and she bent down to the ground to pick up the _Encyclopedia_. "See you there," she murmured, and joined the rendezvousing horde of red-heads.

Juliet tapped his shoulder, and he turned to meet her laughing gaze. "What?" he snapped.

A decidedly malicious grin spread across her face. Her mascara had smeared over the bridge of her nose. "Ickle Artykins got a _girlfriend_?"

It was as if the Avon stocks had crashed. Artemis had that delicious talent of glaring that all mothers wanted to improve upon. "No, Juliet, I do _not _have one. That happened to be a girl I had fallen over." He walked along the shelves again, plucking out the books relevant to his classes and handing them to Juliet.

"_Ever_?" She looked tempted to add something to that, but decided not to. Good thing. 

Artemis shot her an annoyed glance, and detached himself from the alchemy section with disgust. Nothing good there—it was just a bunch of theoretical dung written by cultists. "You know how I feel on that matter,_tu __bouffon._ In any case, we should be buying these." (3)

The Fowl heir flashed a smile at the cashier, who was in the process of reporting the photographer's thefts to a small box on his desk. He smiled nervously in return, and fainted right on cue.

* * *

"Juliet?" he called, rubbing aching eyes. The still-neat bed sheets around him cast few shadows from his book light; he lay on top of the thick quilt, only a dent and a body to indicate his presence at all in the dark. "What time is it?" He shut _Year with the Yeti _with a slight _bang_, happy to have finally finished both the rather lengthy list of textbooks and a perfectly miserable novel. Since noon of the last day to— 

"Three o'clock, and let me sleep, you moronic genius," Juliet snapped from across the room, slapping a downy pillow over her head. "How do you expect me to protect you if I'm dead from exhaustion?"

Three in the morning. Not bad, for a half-night's work. All the first year books done, and the second year ones as well. Who said speed had to be sacrificed for full understanding?  
  
A pillow, fluffy and all too big, sailed his way when he opened his fairy-computer, which had further illuminated the small room into almost daytime conditions. He dodged it with barely a twitch, but it landed on the cold beef stew he had failed to eat. Suffice to say, there was soup in places it was never meant to be in. Including Artemis' on precious laptop. 

He sighed openly, picking up the dripping pillow from the bowl and carefully using an edge to wipe the brown sludge form his laptop. The eerie blue glow continued to illuminate the room, casting ghostly blue shadows across Artemis' face. She really _was _getting out of hand, stepping far above her role. It wasn't as is she was his sister or anything. "Juliet, why did you do that?"

"Turn it off!" her voice called out from beneath the writhing sheets, muffled somewhat by the pillow firmly clamped to her head. Melodramatically pained, as all teens liked to be in that respect.

He sighed again. Reason rarely worked with animals, but it was worth a try. It would be such a pity to throw away the pot just because the paint liked to run down the sides. Vessels such as the Butlers were very hard to come by. "I am the employer, and the employéd. J'ai sagace, mais tu es stupide." (4)

Juliet was not stupid, despite what Artemis just implied. Cognates were not a difficult thing to figure out.

More pillows sailed the five-foot trip to Artemis, splattering the soup further. A few goosedown feathers spilled forth, plastering themselves onto whatever puke-like splotch was closest.

Artemis' internal temperature rose several degrees, although his impassive face did not show it. Very white hands plucked at the feathers on his loose black-silk pajamas.

Juliet stopped abruptly, burying her head in the remaining pillow fiercely to try and get rid of the light. She was not the sort of person one would want to know in the middle of the night, despite what the local louts thought dreamily.

Artemis looked down. The small laptop sputtered, and went out. The green power button on the sight flickered into a funny shade between ebony and onyx.

Anger is a funny thing. Some people let it out as it comes, keeping themselves as optimistic as an Australian soldier. Others let it build up, letting out to give them that added edge in a race or game. A few let it collect over time into a tight, hidden ball of highly explosive material, pretending it didn't exist until something ignited it. Usually, these explosions were roughly proportional to Vesuvius.

Krakatoa detonated with an angered yell, spewing forth several newly-learned hexes. Juliet's pillow pressed itself further into the bed, edges squeezing itself tighter as Juliet's hands tried to wrest it off. The blanket floated above her writhing figure, then clamped down on her head when the pillow was finally torn off.

The light emitted by each curse lit the room when, several minutes later, an owl swooped in through the chaos. Juliet had finally managed a counterattack; the owl was knocked out like a troll over a bridge by a particularly large textbook that Artemis had assigned her to read in Hogsmeade. When Artemis was finally stunned by _Advances in Combat Magic and How to Counter Them_, Juliet pulled a flashlight off her bedstand and plucked the owl from the floor.

It flopped in her hands, tawny wings fluttering limply in Juliet's suffocating grasp. When she noticed the bit of parchment attached to its legs she teased it from the mahogany casing and read it to the now calm Artemis.

_"Dear Mr. Fowl,_

_  
We have received intelligence that several spell(s) was used at your location a few minutes ago._

_  
As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)._

_  
We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy._

_  
Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,  
  
Here was an unreadable signature that greatly resembled chicken scratch  
  
Mafalda Hopkirk _

**_IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE _**

_Ministry of Magic"  
_  
Artemis looked up at Juliet, a Kleenex frozen halfway to wipe his cheek of lamp kerosene. The grimace on his face seemed to only please Juliet more. She liked giving Artemis a good beating now, as she had when they were both short, silly, stupid, and stuck in Fowl Manor for the weekend. "Looks like you'll need to fight the old fashioned way, eh Arty?"  
  
Artemis' scowl deepened. By the light of the now-lit kerosene lamp, he would have a nasty bruise on his forehead in morning. The ebony pajamas were torn in several places, revealing hints of pale skin and thin muscles. "I think I need to learn how to, to put it in your terms, 'throw a punch'."  
  
Another pillow sailed through the air, landing squarely on his face and knocking him onto the bed behind him.  
  
"In the morning, you moron," Juliet responded lightly, already industriously scraping the feathers from her hair, "after I get this mess cleaned up again."  
  
Artemis groaned inwardly, bending over the side of the bed to dig out a change of clothes from his chest. Sarcasm was not a tool he would use lightly again.

* * *

He got up at eleven the next morning, with aching eyes and something that greatly resembled an insect looking at him. He bolted upright in the bed, blinking rapidly. Only Juliet with goggles and boxing gloves on. He would have to scold her for that

"Took you long enough," Juliet said brightly, her golden hair gleaming in twin braids that were flung carelessly over her shoulder. At Artemis' glare, she asked defensively, "Do you want to learn how to throw a punch or not?"  
  
"Yes…" Artemis began slowly, but he was swept out of the bed as Juliet bodily picked him up and set him on the floor. She seemed jumpier then usual. Was something in the soup, or the air?

"Well, hurry up then!" she said hurriedly, turning to make a jab at her make-shift dummy. It sagged where she had hit it; clothes and textbooks do not hold together well to begin with, let alone when placed haphazardly on a soft surface such as the mattress.

Artemis opened his mouth to protest, then stopped himself. Sad, but true. He would need to learn to fight some day, and this was as good as any. Juliet couldn't run the five miles from Hogsmeade whenever he was being threatened. Wands would only be able to do so much.

Sensing his hesitation, Juliet wagged a finger at him in a most annoying fashion. Artemis had the sudden urge to lean over and bend it backwards. "A bodyguard isn't any good unless the guarded actually knows how to protect himself somewhat. I can't chase away _all _the rabid scorpions in the Sahara. You'll have to learn to deal with it eventually."  
  
Mumbling about how he wanted Butler back, he got out of bed, and dug into his chest for something he could move in. Pity. He was going to find a few _real _books on alchemy today.

* * *

Five hours later, Artemis had finally accomplished an outstanding feat: He had learned how to actually _hit_ his target with some degree of pain. His arms were sore, his eyes still hurt, he hadn't eaten, and he just wanted to go to Hogwarts. But no. First, he had to figure out how _not_ to block a punch; in so many words, not ducking out of the way like a terrified lawyer. (5)  
  
Juliet, with not a strand of hair out of place, stood grinning as he plopped down on his bed from sheer exhaustion. What little mascara she had managed to find, mercifully mis-packed, wasn't even messed up by sweat.  
  
"No more!" he gasped, reaching for the bottle of water Juliet had thoughtfully filled for him. "Let me go!"  
  
She smiled infuriatingly, and stripped off her hot-pink gloves. "Let's go then, if you're going to be a wimp. God knows I want to have my own apartment for once."  
  
Artemis glared at her with a force that would have shriveled a grape into a raisin. But not Juliet. She just stood there, already busy with packing up all their precious clothes.  
  
Grimacing again, he propped himself up in bed, and ate what little cold soup that was still in the bowl. There had better be showers at Hogwarts, or he not going to be happy.

* * *

They were finally ready. Artemis's two bags were neatly stacked by his side, and Juliet's miniature mountain by hers. All that remained was to touch the awaiting Portkey.

Much confusion had been launched over that. Juliet had taken much convincing that the old _Twix _wrapper was the Portkey, despite the neatly written note besides it explaining what it was and how to go about using it.  
  
He nodded at her slightly. Almost nothing except the slight puffiness beneath his eyes remained of the miserable 'punching lessons' from earlier. In almost perfect tandem, their fingers touched the old candy wrapper.

There was a brief sound of wind as air rushed into the places them and their luggage were rapidly vacating. Quite a lot of air; they had left behind nothing. Almost nothing.

The window shattered, the glass shards falling just in time for two minute figures to see the two adolescents vaporize before their eyes. Twin beams of orange shot out at the silhouettes, but they went right on through them as they faded from view.  
  
One of them slid her helmet visor down, revealing short-cropped auburn hair slick with sweat. The other followed suit, fierce black eyes glinting with frustration.  
  
"D'Arvit!" the shorter of the two cursed, wiping perspiration off her brow. Then into her comm-piece, "Foaly, they're gone." 

Several minutes of frenzied directions ensued from a slender comm-piece, and the would-be kidnappers nodded. Reshielding, they brought whisper-silent wings to life, and out the open window. A single piece of cloth fluttered, tangled hopelessly on the emergency wing set, as they flew through the pollution-laced London air.  
  
They had a job to do.

* * *

(1) 'Or the media; take your choice. My name is Hermione Granger. Are you going to go to Hogwarts? ' (French) I'm assuming 'Hogwarts' is masculine.

(2) 'Yes, in year two.' (Also French)

(3) '…you fool' (French again (duh))

(4) 'I have wisdom, but you are stupid.' ((gasp) French!)

(5) Couldn't resist. If you don't know what I'm talking about… (Throws copy of _Slant_, apparently at random). Nothing quite like Greg Bear to get the mind roaring, especially in the Sci-Fi field.

I assumed Fowl would know French. I also assumed Hermione would know French. Reasons? Artemis is, well, _Fowl. _Hermione goes to France during book three. Is it so hard to imagine that she might have learned it?

Besides, I know French much better then Spanish. If I were to write in any form of (Tolkien's) Elvish, Latin, Greek, or any other languages I know with any amount of confidence, I'd just confuse people. Savvy?

Namárië,  
  
_Nallasariel the Weeper_


	6. Blondie

Disclaimer: Although my ambition is to be an author as good as Colfer, Rowling and Tolkien one day, none of their awesome plotlines and characters are mine. Phoey.

Chapter Five: Blondie

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Artemis found himself buried under a particularly large hot-pink suitcase with what felt like a mirror digging into his cheek. His instinct to start calling for help was quickly suppressed. He had already made himself look like a fool dozens of time today; he didn't need to prove it again. 

Sure enough, Juliet's chipped-green nailpolished fingers soon appeared over the brim of the magenta luggage, lugging the oversized valise off her employer. He got up as well as he could with awry hair, usually perfectly straight, and grass-stained pants. With no small amount of distress, he saw his Armani loafers were ruined. Juliet would be so pleased. 

"Thank you." He said coldly, not one to forget the rigorous punching lesson she had given him. Where was Butler when he needed him? 

"You're welcome." She responded sweetly, smiling. He scowled at her, but turned to examine his surroundings. 

In the distance, soaring turrets with gray-stone walls loomed in the horizon, not even properly blotted out by the ominous pine forests. A few windows shone like jewels from their stained glass, brought to life with orange candlelight. Here, back to reality, they seemed to be in a medieval street, lined with shops of all kinds. For crying out loud, there was a 'Zonko's Prank Shop'. Honestly. 

Although Juliet looked like she was dieing to go into 'Madame Fuchsia's Clothing Boutique', he set his sights on the tavern near the end of the lane. Juliet sighed noticeably, and picked up her most important bag (Her boxing gloves and jade hair tie, of course). Walking fast to keep up with Artemis' long strides, she soon reached the tavern alongside Artemis. 

It seemed like a clean establishment, at least from the outside. As all corrupted businesses should. The door was newly sanded, and gleamed with fresh varnish. The sign, labeled, 'The Three Broomsticks', had crossed broomsticks emblazoned upon it, and a warm glow that seemed to warm up even the temperate summer evening. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he walked in. 

Instantly, the cheerful atmosphere enveloped him, just begging him to sit in a seat, and oblige the smiling waitress with a hefty tip and a mug of the amber beer. With the faintest hint of a smile on his face, he complied. 

The hostess, all golden curls that made Juliet turn green with envy, walked up to them. "Whadya want, missus?" the lady asked, setting an outrageously large and fluffy quill against a pad of paper.

Before Juliet could speak and ask for a coke, he said, "The golden liquid, if you please. And I'm looking for someone by the name of 'McGonagall.'"

The girl laughed. "You mean Butterbeer? Sure, it's coming righ---" She stopped when her brain, small as it was, finally processed the second thing he said. "MacGonagall?" She asked, almost fearfully. "The Transfiguration that failed me in the fifth year and tried to give me a suspension oh dear." She slumped against the back of Artemis' chair, much to his displeasure. "Over there, sir." She whispered, tears brimming in her purple eyes.

Juliet looked genuinely frightened for Artemis. Blondes do not get scared easily, and this girl, with such gorgeous hair, was frightened out of her wits. This was bad. 

(Artemis decided that this was because they were too dumb to be afraid.) 

Anyways, this 'McGonagall' didn't like her pretty suitcases. 

Artemis was already up and walking over, past the now openly crying Blondie, to where her hand had shakily pointed. A figure, cowled and wreathed in shadows like Butler on guard duty, was sitting in the line of fire, sipping his (Or her?) mug of 'Butterbeer'. 

"Monsieur?" he asked the silhouette cautiously, not entirely sure that this was the McGonagall he had met briefly. It didn't look like her, to be sure. The proportions were all wrong…

"Yes, Mister Fowl?" it asked in oily smooth tones, throwing back the dark hood. Straggly black hair hung in loose, unkempt greasy locks around his face, which looked as if carved from rotten cheese, with a grimace to match. 

"Who would you be?" he asked, responding in cold tones every bit as silky. It seems as if he had met a kindred spirit. 

"Professor Snape, teacher of the Potions class at Hogwarts." He spat out 'Potion' as if it was a curse. 

"Ah." 

Juliet came by, flailing her hands madly. "Arty, Arty! The Butterbeer tastes great! You have to try—" she stopped short when she saw Snape. "Oh."

Disgust distorted the professor's features, which Artemis was greatly tempted to mirror. 

"Arty?" Snape asked incredulously after several long moments. 

Juliet blushed. "His nickname, mister…"

Snape ignored her, turning to Artemis again. "I trust you have made arrangements for your servant" Juliet looked as if she wanted to smack Snape upside the head. "and you will be coming with me shortly to Hogwarts."

Artemis nodded, sending a glare towards Juliet. "Never, _ever_ tell anyone that my name is 'Arty' again." He seethed, standing up besides Snape. 

She only smiled infuriatingly. 

The professor stood up too, and they left Juliet to her own, hopefully capable, devices. 

"Buh-bye!" shouted Juliet after them, turning briefly from her animated talk with the newly dubbed 'Blondie'. 

Scowling openly, Artemis followed him into an awaiting carriage. He was pleasantly surprised to find his chest already loaded. Good. He didn't want to do it himself, with 

Juliet too absorbed in her 'educated' discussion and all. 

When he slipped into the carriage, the first thing he noticed was the certain lack of horses. The reins led to nothing but open air, yet the cart seemed to go not only in a perfectly straight line, but there was no driver, either. He frowned. Magic still needed some serious studying. 

He turned, and fished around in his chest (After doing several complicated wand movements to undo the booby trap that would result in his brain not functioning properly for quite a while) until he found 'The Calling'. He had not touched it since the day he had bought it, and its touch still chilled him to the bone, for some strange reason he could not fathom. 

When he brought it out, Snape stared at him with a mixture of shock and cold calculation. "Let me see that." He said, trying to snatch it back from Artemis. 

Artemis drew his hand and the green book back. "Why?" he asked, curious about that desperate look on his face. 

Snape looked him right in the eye. "Do you have any idea who that was written by? What it can do?" 

"No." he said, now quite interested in the turn this conversation took. Only three days into the magical world and he was already finding arcane objects? Maybe some of Holly's extraordinary luck had rubbed off on him.

Coldly, but with more then a little fear in his voice, the professor said, "It was made by Salazar Slytherin, to aid in the enslavement of the Free Creatures. It disappeared for hundreds of years, and was found again by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He used it to gain terrible power." His voice dropped down an octave. "To kill."

Artemis got that tingle down his back, spreading throughout him until reaching his fingertips. "Then I had better learn it, then."

Snape sighed, a strange gesture for one such as him. "Very well. But do not come crying to me when the spells within go awry."

With the barest hint of a smile, Artemis opened the book to the second page. If people didn't like what he was doing, it had to lead to good things. Great things. Golden things.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Of course, the ride to Hogwarts didn't last nearly as long as it should have. He only got finished reading the fifth page, far below Artemis' normal reading rate of two pages per minute. Whenever he tried to read it, the words danced on the paper, flashing green and silver around the elaborate pictures of fey creatures, both of the Faerie and Wizarding kind. There had to be a connection between the two, even if it had degraded to one as the Wizard/Muggle one. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Snape prodding him with his wand as if he was road-kill. "Time to go, Mr. Fowl." He said, in that coldly slick voice of his. The perfect tones for a businessman, or one of the upper-level Mafiya from Russia. An imitation of it could prove useful…

Another poke. This one to hurry up. 

With a slight smile, he turned from the book, and stepped elegantly out of the dismal carriage. Whatever had driven it was still unseeable. 

"Come, Mr. Fowl." Snape beckoned to him, towards the grand doors of the castle he had seen earlier. 

He followed him, past the ranks of what appeared to be small piles of rags, past the lush green lawn, past the stone gray walls, until he was at the bottom of a flight of mighty stairs. With a deep breath, he began to climb towards the top, where Snape had already gone.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Two long hours later, he was panting slightly, and the top still did not look any closer. His legs felt as if they were on fire (Having been so desperate as to run at one point), and his arms were in hardly better condition. 

He had had it. He stopped his steps, long as they were, and gasped like a fish out of water. "Enough!" he cried, plopping down on the hard flagstones. "How do I get up?"

Snape smile coldly, a smile that chilled him almost as deeply as the book. "Lesson number one, Mr. Fowl. Nothing is as it appears."

He stepped down a single step, and was suddenly at Artemis' side. "Not the trees, not the wind." His arm waved grandly into the air, gesturing broadly towards the castle, so very close, yet so far. "Not you, not me. Close your eyes, and pretend as if this was only a flight of normal stairs." He did, about ready to try anything now to get up to Hogwarts, where people seemed half-way sane. Sort of. "Step up."

He lifted a foot, imagining himself at the top, dissipating that infuriating grin that everyone seemed to be giving him these days from Snape's greasy face. 

And he was at the top, with Snape in front of him, his billowing black robes tossed by the winds. "That is what separates us from Muggles. We not only know magic, but we accept magic into our lives." He walked towards one of the huge oaken doors, and it opened for him. 

Artemis stepped in, to begin his true realization of criminality.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

A bad ending sentence, and a cliché at that. Did the 'lesson' that Snape give to Artemis interesting enough? I am just typing this as I go, with few plans for the story. I know what house he's going in to, and how it's going to end. That's it. This is the only story I don't have a complicated looking outline for (They look simple enough to me, but my brother claims they greatly resemble chicken-scratch). 

Snape was a bit out of canon. More of 'Blondie' (No one take offense from those harsh anti-blonde words. I'm a blonde too, and my friends often profess I act like one too), Holly, tons of Juliet, and Butler *evil grin*. Possibility of Foaly, depending on how good I get at writing sarcasm.

Namárië,

_*`~Nallasariel the Weeper_


	7. Beaten by the Belle

Disclaimer: I would do almost anything to even own partial rights to any of my favorite fantasy series, I don't, so none of this is technically legal. 

_'**Belle' is another word for 'girl' in French**_. 

Chapter Six: Beaten by the Belle

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

The doors shut with a resonating clang behind him, echoing through the cold stone corridors. He spun around, only to find himself faced with the glowering Snape. 

"Are you ready, Mr. Fowl, to begin your classes?" he asked, gesturing to the long hallways beyond the grand entrance. 

He should have nodded. Every logical and criminal reason was telling him to say _yes_ to him, to begin the marvelous journey to _true_ fame and fortunes. 

"No." he said, quietly. 

Snape stared at him, unable to understand. "You do not want to go yet." He stated, unbelieving. 

Artemis looked sharply at his soon-to-be teacher. "Did you not hear me, Professor? I said I didn't want to go to class yet. I am unprepared to begin my lessons yet, because I need time to refresh myself from a wearisome journey" he waved his hand aimlessly in the air "and wearisome company."

Snape nodded. "Very well." His face twisted in a sneer of disdain. "Professor McGonagall insisted that you lodge in the Gryffindor quarters until the rest of the students arrive." He smiled sourly. "McGonagall shall be here shortly, and would have brought you to your first class had you been willing." With that, he swept away down one of the many corridors with a dramatic swirl of his cloak. 

Muttering softly to himself about the impromptu-ness of teachers that thought they were the only important thing, he sat down on a convenient bench and waited for McGonagall to arrive.

Little did he know that two of his worst enemies were standing not twenty feet from him.

Not Blondie.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Holly swore fervently in a dozen languages, all of which would have made this story an 'R' rating. Not only had her LEP gear suddenly refused to work, but something that greatly resembled mildewed kitchen window curtains was tangled up in her feet and Trouble of all people was hopping around like a frog trying to get the green jumpsuit off without the electronic seals. Not a terribly pleasant sight. 

"D'ARVIT d*** FOALY why did he have to make everything so bloody COMPLICATED so only his royal GENIUS-NESS could figure out this rotted HELMET….." and so on and so forth. Truth be told, Holly was entertaining similar thoughts about him right now. 

Their equipment had unexpectantly stopped working after rising only a hundred feet or so in front of London, and _something_ happened that ended up them having to make an emergency landing with nonfunctional equipment on the very hard dirt in a mysterious forest with only a slight glimpse of a gray fairy-tale castle ten miles off. Foaly's last words over the mike had something along the lines of 'Short! Remember that Mud-men's and our magic don't mix? Fool!" Meaning, of course, that perhaps she should have listened to him for just this once. 

But, of course, Foaly was not one to _brag_, heaven forbid. He had only told him not to mix Fairy magic and Mud-men logic several hundred times over the comm unit before it failed, thanks to his _brilliant_ experiments. She had only endangered the entire fate of the known world and a certain Recon officer who happened to take a sudden likeliness to a toad to a heartless criminal mastermind who wouldn't _hurt_ a fly. He'd only take whatever money it had, badger it about being a hostage and _then_ throw it out to the elements to certain death and destruction with the utmost in care and kindness. 

Muttering a few choice words about evil genius(s), she turned to Trouble. "Hurry up, _tier-firn_." His face turned to the consistency of spoiled milk, which was promptly erased when he smacked right into the trunk of an overly-large oak tree. 

She was already in her normal, every-day save-the-world clothes that the Recon unit wore under the notorious green jumpsuit. A nice, sensible pair of pants, and a matching shirt of that clichéd green.  Adding a few more muttered oaths, she picked up the dish-rag with one hand, examining it.

Or rather, trying to. She couldn't see her hand on the other side of it. 

Grinning broadly, she turned to Trouble, now nursing a rising bump on his forehead, and waved the rag in front of his face. 

"What's that?" he asked, looking at it curiously. "Grub's blankey?"

Holly sniggered, and waved it a few more times in front of his face. 

He caught on really quickly.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Two hours later found them not only out of the forest, but slinking along the wall of that barely-seen fortress that they had seen from afar. If this castle was what she thought it was, Foaly was in for a very long hour of shouting done by the both of them. Hogwarts, home to the cause of a dozen commander's retirement. Dumbledore. 

Even now, the dishrag's invisibility was sporadic, and every twig cracked sent both of their arms snatching for the nonexistent Neutrino 2000s at their waist. After walking through a haunted forest for nearly two hours, you could hardly blame them. 

Finally, they reached a small niche in the wall, where an intricate window of stained glass provided a glance inside. Their quarry was staring right at them, his face, a bright red from the hued window, his purple eyes narrowed in speculation. 

The dishrag slipped off of them, grabbed by an unseen assailant. They turned, and a slow grin spread across Holly's face. "I wasn't expecting to see you again, Minerva."

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

And where was Butler, you might ask? Not somewhere you would expect. 

He was currently knee-deep in a whole lot of trouble. Not literally, of course. He had just been served up to a very angry crowd of what appeared to be paparazzi that had somehow gotten through the walls of Fowl Manor and through his door. His defenses had been lacking of late, apparently.

"How did young Mistress Fowl manage to swindle her way into the Magical World?" a truculent gnome asked, taking another picture with that confounded camera of his.

He gritted his teeth. "I. Don't. Know. Now get out of here before you become a security hazard. 

The camera flashed again. "Where is her sister Juliet?"

Several of the other trailing reporters nodded in agreement, bending over their notebooks in anticipation.

Something within him snapped.

A few tentative moments passed.

The anticipation made one of the writers faint upon the expensive Oriental rug.

One of the cameras quipped a quick picture.

That was it.

With a single swipe of one of his arms, he sent half a dozen of the correspondents rocketing out of the door like pins in a bowling alley. A small human with sequined glasses stepped through just then, and her eyes widened as the incoming tsunami swept her off her feet and into the rhododendron bushes just outside the door. A few more writhing reporters, all squealing 'What about his legendary bodyguard?' flew to the top of a quickly rising pile.   

The writer with the sequined glasses squirmed her way out from the bottom of the bottom of the pile, and walked up to the massive man on the doorstep. She whipped out an outrageously long quill, and set it on her notebook, where it started taking notes. "So, is Mistress Artemis here today?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. 

Butler growled, and slammed the door.

The woman scurried off, excited. The headlines fir this ran through her head like a tornado. 'Overprotective Grandfather of Criminal Mastermind Takes Out Reporters', or 'Miss. Artemis: The Force Behind the Criminal'. Cornelius would just _love_ these. 

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Juliet was understandably happy as she walked to her new house with her new best friend in hand. Mary shared her passion of not only clothes, but of annoying young men too ("They just seem like a bunch of annoying mosquitoes, dear. You just need to swat them away enough times and then they'll fess up."). Her favorite color wasn't pink, but purple ("It matches my eyes, you see."), and she didn't seem to understand a word that she spoke about wrestling ("Fencing is a far more impressive sport, m'dear."), but they seemed to be meant for one another. A matter of fact, they decided to become roommates. 

"…and they're having a sale at Boxing World for these kidskin gloves .They're supposed to have better grip then the normal leather ones, but still, 500 dollars is a little high, don't you think?"

Mary Sue stared blankly at her, flicking her gorgeous hair over her shoulder. 

"Well, I told Butler that he needed a pair for when he got into fights, you know, and he said that it was demeaning to lower yourself down like that when you could just take out the opponent with a nice rifle." She shook her head at his silliness. "But it just takes all the fun out of it." 

Mary Sue continued to stare at her blankly, even when they got to the front gate of the rather dilapidated house. Juliet looked past the gate, and moaned. 

"I thought I specifically said that we _didn't_ want the house next to the Shrieking Shack."

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Artemis was flat out confused. It took a lot to utterly bamboozle a child prodigy, but he was utterly and irrevocably stunned. Holly knew McGonagall, and vice versa. And she didn't hate her, either. Quite the contrary. They shared a brief embrace, and talked to one another comfortably for a long time before going their separate ways. Why Holly let him see that interchange, he had no idea, but it left his mind spinning. _McGonagall was on the Fairies' side. _McGonagall. 

He shifted uncomfortably on the cold stone bench. He was in McGonagall's classroom right now, undergoing a most long and repetitive lecture. He had gotten very similar ones at the brief attendance at all of the various private schools he had gone to, at his mother's insistence, and he let his mind wander. Whenever she stopped speaking, he nodded in a sincere and convincing way, and kept on thinking. 

Still, _McGonagall_. It was so…_strange_ to have a teacher that he thought he could trust being a possible opponent. Bewildering. He might have to trust himself to Snape, after all….

"Artemis Fowl." She said, snapping him to attention. 

"Yes?" he asked, cautiously.

"When do you want to take the First Year exams?" she asked, her bespectacled eyes squinting at him. Hazel eyes…

He smiled grimly, not at all hearing the previous bit to the speech. "As soon as possible."

McGonagall smiled as well. "I was expecting that. You see, I had a bit of a bet going with Dumbledore about that." She opened a drawer at the desk in which she was sitting, and leafed though the papers for several minutes before coming up with a thick sheaf of papers. Holding it out to him with a quill, she said, "Begin."

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

He finished it exactly an hour and a half later, a new record. It was surprisingly easy, and he flew through all thousand questions of it easily, as if it was the Mensa test. He passed it back to her, and waited with a small, vampiric smile.

McGonagall tore her eyes away from the engrossing _Transfiguration for the Very Advanced_, and eyed the test papers for a few moments. Then, with a casual flick from her wand, she set several of the quills on her desk to a pot of red ink. They flew like feathers in the wind, inked themselves, and corrected the test with an also record speed. Pity that it was hidden behind a thick stack of books. He could have stolen the correct answers, and sold them to one of those morons in the First Year.

She turned back to the massive tome for a few moments, letting the multitude of pens do their job. After several nerve-wracked moments, the quills turned the last page, and gave McGonagall a tentative poke. It pointed at something on the paper, and all the pens promptly shivered, and fell back onto the desk.

McGonagall looked at him with a small smile. "A perfect score, Artemis." She said, looking quite proud.

Some voice inside him, undistinguished and driven for some strange reason, spoke up. "What did Granger get?" he asked, the question popping out before he could stop it. 

McGonagall's smile spread. "One hundred." He smiled. She could be beaten. "_And one_." His grin disappeared, and a scowl appeared on his face. 

"How?"

MacGonagall's smirk widened. "I am not at liberty to tell you, Mr. Fowl."

Great. The first day at Hogwarts, and he was only second best. Beaten by the Belle.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Ah, yes. That chapter wasn't nearly as well written as my others, but I am too preoccupied with my other stories at the moment. This will probably not be updated for two weeks or so, since I want to get to 'Rauros' in my 'Enter the Shadow' story. I left many threads and mini-mysteries in this, which shall all be answered in good time. Do not leave reviews regarding these. 

Hmm… Anything else? Oh yes; The reporters think that Artemis is a girl because 'Artemis' is primarily a girl's name. I had a few questions about that. After all, didn't Spiro take advantage of that too? 

As for Mary Sue, I shall quote Captain Jack Sparrow from _Pirates of the Caribbean_: 'I couldn't resist, mate.'

Namärie,

_*`~Nallasariel the Weeper_


	8. The Sorting Hat

Disclaimer: Stop thinking this is MY story! If you are reading this, why do you even bother? Just curious.

**_Author's Notes:_**_ I beg of you, **don't kill me because of what House I place Artemis in**. Yes, it is finally going to happen, but don't kill me. Please. Not that you could, of course, but it isn't very nice to go around trying to slay innocent writers. Oh, and sorry for the length. It was a lot longer on my first draft, which would have been another few pages (Mostly more __Butler__ and Holly riffraff, as well as a bit more of Artemis. You'll see it next chapter.)_

Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

_He was beaten._ The first time in years, since…._never_. He had never lost, but now he was _second best_. It rang through his mind like a peal of thunder, half of him refusing to register the fact. _He had been beaten_.  

He shuddered, following McGonagall down the long stone corridors. After breaking the news to him, she had swept out of the Transfiguration classroom, and had beckoned him to follow.

"Now, Mister Fowl, since you decided to take the exams early" He winced noticeably. "You have five days until the rest of the students arrive. You may stay in the Gryffindor Common Room if you so wish, but just stay out of our way. We Professors have much to do to prepare for the coming year." She looked back at him to make sure he was paying attention. "The Library can be wandered in freely, since Madame Pince's quarters are right off the Library Wing itself, and no doubt she'll enjoy a bit of company." McGonagall's eyes got an odd gleam to them, one that Artemis didn't find comforting at all. 

"I think I will be by the Library most of the time, Professor." He said, making up his mind. Although it wasn't as private, perhaps he could get some answers about some _very_ important questions.

McGonagall nodded, and swept up in front of a portrait of what appeared to be a very obese lady in a poorly fitting dress. 

"Password?" She said, gesturing at them with a plump arm. 

"_Wattlebird_." The Professor said. Then, looking at Artemis again, she said, "You can remember that, correct? Because that's your ticket into here. Without it, you'll be sleeping out in the hallways."

Artemis gave the barest hint of a nod, and stepped through the doorway that the swinging picture made. Hallways had no privacy for criminal activities.

"I'll leave you here until supper time comes. A House Elf shall be along then with your meals, and you may do what you will until then." With that, the Professor turned around, and left the way she came.

"Are you going in or out?" The Fat lady said impatiently. "I won't stand here like this forever, you know."

Artemis hurried in before he could get his fingers snapped off. 

Inside was a room of all scarlets and warm yellows, with a roaring fire that only added to the aura of comfort. Huge, comfortable chars were scattered all around the room, just begging to be sat in. Tables, hanging low from what must have been many heavy loads of books and homework over the years, were spread around the fuzzy red carpet. Two staircases leading to separate hallways were on each side of the fireplace. 

Which one led to his room? In general, the door to the men's room was on the left. So… 

He experimentally tried to go up the one on the left, and the stairs turned into a slide. Of course, that was in the 'Muggle' world. 

This time, he went on the one to the right, and was met by similar results. 

He backed off slowly from the stairs, trying to puzzle this out. Why wasn't the staircase letting him into either of the dormitories? McGonagall would have told him of anything he had to do…

He straightened his back, and called out, "Holly, I know you're there. Come out where I can see you."

True to his suspicions, the air in front of him shimmered for a few moments, and Holly appeared, wearing the smug smile of victory on her face.

Holly smoothed back a few stray locks of her hair. Apparently, she hadn't gotten her buzz-cut for a while. "One question, Mud-Boy." 

Artemis shrugged, bringing his hand closer to his waist. "Fire away."

Holly stepped forward, her hands on her hips in a most akimbo fashion. "How did you know I was here?" she asked, her grin spreading across her face. He didn't have a lot of time.

Artemis shrugged again, an oddly out-of-character move that made Holly frown a bit. "One: You and McGonagall were talking earlier in a most friendly fashion, so you must have known each other before." He looked sharply at the short fairy. "Correct?"

She nodded curtly, and beckoned for him to continue with a casual wave. "So, it was a simple step to assume you would plot something to happen to me in her own dormitories. As soon as the staircases refused to let me up to provide access to my luggage, I knew."

Holly bared her teeth, beckoning to the shadows. "Any other confessions, Mud Boy?" Another fairy, with a most outrageous swagger, walked up to Holly's side. 

"Say the word, Holly, and he's out." He said, cocking a very nasty looking gun.

"It's _Captain_ Short to you, _Trubs_!" Holly seethed. 'Trub's' face reddened slightly. 

Artemis allowed himself the luxury of a grin. "You have no _working_ weapon against me, _Captain_. That was your mistake." 

Holly's eyes widened as she realized the grievous miscalculation in her plan. "Get down, _get down_!" She yelled, shoving Trubs into an overly large recliner.

It was perhaps a minute too late to fix her mistake; Artemis' wand was out and ready to fire any number of annoying spells, as well as several in a significantly higher category then 'annoying'.

"Two: The carpet had the imprints of both of your weights visibly denting the surface." A bolt of blue shot at slightly stunned Trubs, sending him hurtling into yet another poofy chair. 

"Three: There was a slight shimmer in the air." Yet another stream of magic zapped Trubs right in the chest, knocking him out cold.

"Now, see here Mud Boy!" Holly said angrily, readying her fist for one of her rather painful punches.

Artemis tsked. "Temper, temper, Holly." He pointed his wand, and a river of azure fire flowed at Holly, sending her stumbling back several paces.

"Four: My invisibility cloak had somehow ended up draped on a chintz beanbag." Twin lightning streaks made Holly and Trouble fly into the air, struggling weakly. With another twist of his wand, he sent them hurtling out the open window and hopefully into the embrace of the Whomping Willow. 

"Five: _You left the window open_!" he heaved, slamming the windows shut with another twist from his wand. Slightly tired from the ordeal, he sank down into a convenient chair.

A tall shadow separated itself from the wall, causing him to smile slightly. "Do step closer, McGonagall."

The silhouette drew closer to him, and the hem of an embroidered green robe swept into view. Finally, auburn hair only dusted with gray came into the light. McGonagall, if anything, looked pleased. 

"Well done, Mr. Fowl, but was giving them to the Whomping Willow truly necessary?"

He smoothed his ebony hair, slightly damp with sweat, from his forehead. "I assure you, it is. They were trying to kill me." He smiled coldly. "At your order, no doubt."

To his surprise, McGonagall threw back her head, and laughed. When the chortles subsided, she looked at Artemis again. "Really, do you think I would try and kill my own student? Especially one who had nearly beaten Granger?"

"Emphasis on the word '_try__'_." He said bitterly.

She shook her head, still amused. "I thought you would have guessed by now, Fowl. I honestly did. You disappoint me. Granger figured it out quick enough, although she has kept it secret for goodness knows how long."

He was at a loss. He thought he had it all figured out… His forehead creased in concentration, and lifted again. For the very first time in his life, he spoke those dreaded words: "I don't know."

She smiled. "Really, Mr. Fowl. I think you do." 

Frustrated, he cried out, "Well, I don't!"

Slowly, painstakingly, she lifted up her wand, and pointed it at herself. "_Nyphonstro_." She whispered. For a moment, blue light flickered around her figure, and then faded back down. Everywhere around her, a dull golden glow shone, reflecting like mirrors in her eyes.

"That's very interesting." Artemis said, annoyed that he still couldn't figure out this problem. Why, why wasn't his brain solving this puzzle? "But what does it have to do with the Fairies?"

She smiled again, a sad smile. "I owe them a life-debt, Artemis. It goes through the bonds of loyalty to the country and your race. If they asked me to kill you now, I would be forced to do it. If they told me to kill myself with this—" She held up her wand to her face. It sparked golden fires, reflecting in her eyes. "I would have to." She looked sharply at Artemis. "Do you understand now?"

His mind raced, going through the pages of _The Calling_ that he had read. "But, the only thing that can create that sort of debt—"

"Is by them saving my life. Yes, Mr. Fowl, they saved me. I was near dead after trying to transform into an Animagus, and I would have undoubtedly joined the ranks of the dead of not for them." She glanced at her body, still glowing a dusky gold. "That is their magic, within me until I die."

He frowned. "The Fairy-magic I saw was blue."

She laughed again, almost bitterly. "That was for elves, you fool."--His scowl deepened--"A sprite's magic, what precious little they have, is gold."

He nodded, finally understanding. "So, you shall not kill me?"

"No. I shall not harm you in any way, and I cannot. Dumbledore's orders somehow overwrite the fairies', so you are free to do what you will. I recommend the library, personally. Madame Pince enjoys visitors."

He was about to interrupt, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "The library is down the hallway, then take to rights, go down the staircase two times, four lefts, and then two rights."

He shook his head. "No, no no. I would like to have access to my things, as well as if Holly shall be bothering me again."

She moved towards the door, preparing to leave for the second time that day. "The stairs were stopped by Holly and Trouble. I cannot promise safety from anyone in Hogwarts, however, not even from myself." She accompanied this with a ghastly smile rivaling his. He'd better practice that too; can't have anymore second places. With another dramatic swirl from her green and black robes, she left through the gaping portrait-hole.

He turned towards the stairs, picking up his Invisibility Cloak as he went. Then, he started up the left-hand stairs. It let him up without a protest. He _knew _it was that one.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

The journey to the library, _The Calling_ in hand, was uneventful. The same should have been said in getting through the doors.

"_For the last time_, my name is _Artemis Fowl_, I am quite sure that I am _not_ early to this school year, and that I am most certainly _not_ a ghost." He said, exasperated. This had been going on for nearly an hour, and Madame Pince still wouldn't let him through.

Madame Pince looked well enough. Her hair was piled up in a no-sass bun of silver, and her brown eyes were sharper then McGonagall's tongue. She wore an impeccable robe of black, with an inner one of sea-gray. Old as she was, she missed nothing. He would have a hard time with criminal activities with the likes of her and McGonagall around. 

She prodded Artemis for the hundredth time, checking to see if he was indeed solid. "Well." She said grudgingly. "I guess you can enter." 

A victorious grin passed over his features. All those books, just sitting there, waiting to be read….

"But NO going into the Restricted Section without permission from a teacher, unless you want to feel what it's like to have a forty-pound tome smacking you in the noggin."

The smile did not disappear. There was always a loophole in the rules, always a way of getting around the obvious. You just had to be clever enough to see it.

She peered at him again, still suspicious. "If I catch one book out of place…."

He went through the door at a hurried pace, not wanting to be the victim of yet another lecture. 

The Fowl library was once considered one of the best in the world. After all, what was a criminal empire without the knowledge to back it up? Now, it had all been auctioned off at obscenely high prices and replaced with a digital one. It spanned everything from Aardvark tongues to the value of a Zulu shield on the black market. But, it would be very hard pressed to beat the one before him now.

Books, double-stacked on shelves that soared up to the pinnacle of the thirty-foot ceiling, were everywhere. Thanks to Madame Pince's undoubtedly articulate cleaning method, the only dust was on the books in the distant Restricted Section, probably more for looks then anything.

Sighing happily, he plopped down in one of the overly plump Victorian chairs (After checking to make sure it was genuine, of course), and opened _The Calling_:

_"Those of Magick Blood haveth much natural inborne power, whether exploited or not. Most of them have no knowledge of muche of this power, or no knowledge of its full extente. Indeed, I myself haveth takenth the blood of a willing Faerie, and thus madeth myself greater in power…"_

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Juliet stared, distraught, at the interior of the house. It was peeling nasty gray paint chips all over the floor, and the carpet had long since been stained to a gray-brown coated with a thick layer of dust. Tattered curtains the color of cloudy skies were ripped into almost nonexistence, the process only being quickened by Juliet's frolicking cats. 

Mary Sue, at her side, turned a deathly white. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she executed a perfect (Albeit much practiced) faint, landing elegantly on top of her suitcase. Her pet rabbit, rather appropriately named 'Fluffy', whimpered when Juliet's twin cats saw that its protectress had swooned. 

Juliet wagged her finger at the leader of the two cats, a girl. "Now now, Artemis, be nice to the bunny." She turned to its twin, who had been trying to sneak around her to get at the trembling rabbit. "You too, Apollo." 

Mary got up after several moments, heaving dramatically. "Well, that gave me a bit of a shock." She said, brushing her hair back behind her ears. It looked as if it had just been brushed to perfection. 

Juliet rolled her eyes. "I bet it did."

Mary looked around, probably for the first real time. Her hands akimbo, she said, "We'll have to fix this room up. How about purple? A nice, gentle lavender. You know, to match my eyes?"

Juliet frowned a bit. "What about green, to match _mine_?"

Mary clenched her fists. "_I_ am the more beautiful, so it goes by what _I_ say, and that's purple!"

Juliet looked at her fists in alarm. "That's not how you punch!" she exclaimed, looking at Mary with shock. "Like this." She clenched her own fists, whitening the knuckles. 

Mary cocked an eyebrow. "And what does _that_ have to do with the new paint job for this room?"

"Nothing at all. But you can't expect to get into fights and actually _win_ if you punch like a girlie." Juliet retorted, correcting Mary's fist.

Mary, somewhat riled, snapped, "First of all, I _am_ a girl. Second of all, I _don't_ get into fights. Thirdly, if I do get into a fight, I barely last until some handsome masked man miraculously enters just when the evil-doer knocks my sword out of my hand, he slays my antagonist, falls madly in love with me, and whisks me off to his fair kingdom where we get married and live happily ever after."

Juliet shook her head. "Well, lets assume there will be no 'masked man'. If you want to win a fight, here's what you do…."

And so it was that Mary Sue learned karate, Butler-style. 

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Foaly was not pleased. Not only had he lost contact with Holly and Trouble, but he _ran out of carrot cake_. 

He stared at the empty platter forlornly. There! A few crumbs! Faster then Mulch's hand, he picked up the platter, and shook the few remaining bits of the 'missing' cake into his gaping mouth. Carrot cake…..

Within seconds, it was all gone. Crumbs and all. Even something that tasted suspiciously like a goober…

"Foaly? Foaly! D'arvit Foaly, can you read me?" Static erupted from one of his many consoles, tinny and desperate sounding. 

He nearly knocked the carrot-cake platter over in his hurry to reach his chair. "Yes, I read you. Over."

More static, a bit clearer, sounded through Ops at a decibel level that rivaled a jet plane taking off. "D'ARVIT FOALY, WHERE DID YOU HIDE MY FUNGUS CIGARS!" Wait, that was Root.

You see, he had decided to 'borrow' Root's fungus cigars, to see if he could find an excuse to ban Root from them. Not only were they extremely smelly and the computers seemed to dislike them, he just wanted to alleviate the boredom. And anyways, what was the fun of being an annoyance if the number-one person on the list was dead from cancer?

So, of course, he had hid it in the most unlikely of places: Root's desk.

Most of the extensive tests that were done had ruled a negative on harmful side-effects. But he wasn't done with them yet. And it would be highly amusing to watch Julius turn the whole place over looking for them.

"Foaly, D'arvit, I NEED YOU!" The static-y voice cried. The monitor flashed to life; it was Holly, in some unidentified location. 

He grinned from ear to pointy ear. "Holly! What a pleasant surprise! How was Artemis, pray tell? 

Holly, her image fuzzy enough already, seemed to turn red with anger. She'd be rivaling Beetroot next. "D'ARVIT FOALY, I DON"T HAVE TIME FOR THIS! I DID NOT SPEND AN HOUR TRYIN TO ESCAPE FROM A D'ARVIT WILLOW THAT WAS TRYING TO MAKE ME INTO A CARROT CAKE TO LISTEN TO THIS!"

"Carrot cake?" he asked. She had his attention now.

"FOALY, YOU INSUFFERABLE CENTAUR! I JUST GOT THE SPARKS BEAT OUT OF ME BY FOWL! MINERVA DOUBLE-CROSSED US, AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS WE'RE HERE! ARTEMIS HAS DISCOVERED THE CALL—" Her call was cut off abruptly, by what, he could not say. It wasn't like Captain Holly Short to cut off in mid-insult. He should know, after all. And it took a lot to keep her from speaking her mind….

"FOALY! I KNOW YOU TOOK THEM!" Root shouted, a livid purple outside his window. Didn't he know that there was more important then his addiction to those vile cigars? He closed it with a deft click on the keyboard, and put on the sound dampeners. He had too much to think about.

He frowned. If she was at Hogwarts, how did the call get to him? How had Minerva, tied to them by a life-debt, betrayed them? What was Dumbledore planning? How did Artemis get a hold of The Calling, the only other Book out there?

More importantly, _how was he going to get more carrot cake with Root outside his door_?

He needed some carrot cake _bad_. 

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

The days passed swiftly for Artemis Fowl the second, too swiftly for him. Although he couldn't wait for the school year to start, he still had many questions, questions that, if left unanswered, would probably come back and be his ultimate undoing.

He had read a lot, probably more then most read in their entire lifetimes. Hundreds of books had fallen before the glow of the candles, gobbled up and stored within his ever-increasing mind. Spells and hexes galore, so he'd never have to worry about some ruffian in the hallway. Detailed schematics of the school, many of which probably should have been in the Restricted Section. Information of his past. 

What little there was, was quite vague. Snippets, and small hints of some even grander past, for the most part. Mentions of Lord Hugo de Fóle's criminal exploits, mostly in the realm of Fairy Folk exploitation. Like great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, like great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson. Hints at ancient powers unearthed for the sake of gold, of feuds tracing back to the early ages of Fowl-dom. So _that_ was why everyone was staring at him. It was the reputation that the Fowl name had built up over the years, not the fact that he had only robbed everyone from the Fairies to the President of the United States.

Now, however, his future was mere inches away. He was waiting in the classic Juliet manner: tapping his foot impatiently. McGonagall, who had been obviously avoiding him for all these days, was waiting besides him on the landing of the opening stairs, outside. The First Years, who could have been described as 'bright eyed and bushy-tailed', if not for the fact that they were not squirrels (Although they chattered like them), were half-running to keep up with the giant-man he had seen at Diagon Alley as he paced up the steps with huge strides. After several long moments, they had reached them, and she opened the door for them to enter Hogwarts. He joined the general mob, much to his distaste, and waited for McGonagall to explain matters at Hogwarts.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you shall be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, during your stay here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time within your House common room. 

"The four Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you." Long as the speech was, she did not seem at all winded, on the contrary. She was as cool as ever. With a dramatic swirl from her cape—How _did_ she get it to do that?—she left to far greater company.

The students, most of them only a tad shorter then he was, started murmuring in a most Juliet-like fashion. He paid no attention; rather, he spent his time making his hair was neat. Bad impressions were the bane of any criminal mastermind. That, and lollipops. 

An eternity of whispering passed before the doors opened again. The Professor swept in front of them again, her hazel eyes shooting sparks. "You may enter now." She pointed to the cold stone interior, and enter they did. For a moment, a shadow seemed to fall across his back, brushing lightly against neck. As quickly and mysteriously as it had come, it left. He shook his head. Now was not the time to be getting jitters. Those were for in_duh_viduals, as he called them, and blondes. For those in both categories, they should probably be quarantined. 

Within a few moments of entering the corridor, they were out again. Artemis suppressed the instinct to rub his eyes against the light. Candles, at least several hundred, were floating in mid air, illuminating a massive hall that rivaled Fowl Manor in sheer size. Four tables stretched nearly the full length of the room, lined with chatting students. At the head of the hall, another table, smaller, but somewhat elevated, stood. Teachers, some very short, some very crabby, and one most probably dead, were seated, with varying expressions of favor or distaste.

They walked down the gap between two of the House tables, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The ceaseless chatter quieted a bit when they reached the end of the hall, but most certainly did not stop. 

McGonagall stood in front of them, on the teacher's platform by a stool, holding the battered Sorting Hat. Reading from a lengthy scroll, she read, "Allan, Jessica."

A girl to his right, shaking like a leaf in a gale, slowly walked up to the chair, and sat on it. McGonagall lowered the hat onto her, and…

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat roared. The Ravenclaw table, bedecked in bronze and blue, burst out in cheers. Jessica, looking extremely relieved, trotted up to that table with a broad grin on her face.

"Fowl, Artemis."

The room, once thought impossible to quiet down, _did_ quiet down to whispers. With a small, vampiric grin on his face, Artemis stepped up to the stool, and sat down. The hat slowly lowered onto his head.

_Ah, yes, Artemis Fowl_. It whispered. _I haven't had one of you for a very long time. But which House? Plenty of brains, that's apparent. Perhaps Ravenclaw? Guts, you have courage, that's for sure, hmmm. What's this? No morality? _

He nodded mutely. He _was_ a criminal, after all. 

_Hmmm, not terribly kindhearted, not Hufflepuff.__ Let's see…_

"RAVENCLAW!" It roared.

Artemis, if possible, turned whiter. Ravenclaw? He thought--He thought he would get Slytherin! What about the Green and Silver? 

_Ravenclaw's__ where you belong, Fowl.__ Like it or not. You'll see._

The hat was lifted off his head, and he numbly walked down to the bellowing Ravenclaw table. _Ravenclaw__?.............___

~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MUAHAHAHA! I bet you weren't expecting THAT! I'll quote my favorite quote again, just to make sure you understand…. "Couldn't resist, mate."~~ 'Captain' Jack Sparrow, 'Pirates of the Caribbean'. Savvy?

**Of other important revelations made this chapter: I know they don't make much sense**. That's because **those aspects of the story are sort of like mini-mysterys and mini-plots**. I am weaving a web, and it's up to YOU to untangle yourself. McGonagall's relationship to the Fairies is, well, odd. It is better explained later (A few chapters later, maybe even near the end.)

Alas, **Foaly**** is REALLY OOC** {Out of Character}. Sorry. Refer to the above quote.

Namarië,

_*`~Nallasariel the Weeper_


	9. Poison

Disclaimer: Heck, I wish I did own the Artemis Fowl books, but I don't. But I'm writing this anyways. Mary Sue and a few of the Ravenclaw people are mine. Most  of them are based on people that I know, for your information. 

_Author's Notes: I am SO sorry for not updating for ages. I wanted to work on my 'Enter the Shadow' story, because it is my main project right now besides 'The Arilyn Chronicles' (At fictionpress). Anyways, you have to understand that this story is only my third priority. It may be my most popular, but it's not my favorite. 'Enter the Shadow' is the sort of story I love to write. When I write this, I have to force myself to write humor. I don't terribly like writing humor; I like writing stories with rich, extensive and complex plots and things like that. This really isn't the sort of story I specialize in. Thanks for reading my little talk, and I hope you understand why I don't update a lot now. Merci beaucoup._

Chapter Eight: Poison

~~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Ravenclaw__…I'm in Ravenclaw…_The thoughts ran through Artemis' head like a tsunami, crashing about and only bringing greater waves of confusion. Right now, he really wished he had some Motrine…

Numbly, he stepped off the dais, and walked towards the cheering Ravenclaw table. They were cheering for him, louder then they had for most of the others… Some of the Ravenclaw people, Second Years, by the look of it, scooted over to allow him a seat. He sat down, barely acknowledging that they were cheering for him, _him_… 

"First Year?" asked a Ravenclaw, off to his right a bit. 

He looked up sharply, and found himself staring into the face of a Chinese girl, with pretty black hair and dancing brown eyes. "I'm not a 'First Year'." He said harshly, more so then even when he was talking to a way-ward business contact. 

The girl did not cringe, however, like one of those simpering morons, and only seemed to brighten. "So you're Artemis Fowl?"

He hesitated, and then nodded. 

"Well," She continued, sticking out her hand. "I'm Cho Chang, a Third Year. There have been lots of rumors flying about you. Is it true that you took the First Year exams and aced them without any studying at all?" Several of the surrounding students leaned forward a bit, anticipating the answer.

Since gossip was as sharp a sword as his wit or any very large gun, he smiled vampiricly, and said coldly, "Yes. It was rather easy, after all." He refused to shake her outstretched hand, and turned calmly back to watching the Sorting Hat.

Those students not eavesdropping began to do so, and Cho said nervously, "Why aren't you in Slytherin, then? Even if you are smart…" She trailed off when he wheeled around and shot her his most debilitating glare. 

"One: I don't know _why_ I'm not in Slytherin. Two: I am smart, too smart for your puny minds to even comprehend. Three: Granger _somehow_ managed to beat me." He winced as those words came out. Gossip, bad gossip, was a very hard thing to stop. Soon, all the school would know he was only second best. Not good. Not good at all.

A student, undoubtedly a Second Year as well, whipped out a notebook and scribbled something down furiously, her blue eyes intently watching him. He turned to her, and said coldly, "It's not nice to eavesdrop."

The girl smiled a bit, and brushed back her neat red hair so it was out of her face. "You are a wonderful one to talk, 'Arty', considering you aren't terribly nice either." She looked back down, scrawling a few more notes. 

This piqued his interest, more then this 'Cho'. She had a lot of nerve… Then again, his reputation here had yet to be built to the heights it had reached in the Muggle world. So many people to cow, so little time.

He opened his mouth for a debilitating remark, but thunderous roar as 'Ginny Weasely' had been sorted into Gryffindor—The same Weasely family he had met at Diagon Alley?—and thus ending the Sorting Ceremony. Dumbledore, resplendent in a rich robe of purple with gold stars embroidered on it, stood up, tapping his wine glass with his wand for silence. "Another year has gone by, and new heads have come all empty, ready to fill with new information." Artemis snorted, earning a glare from the note-taker. His head was _not_ empty. Far from it. 

Dumbledore continued, ignoring such rude sounds coming from more then just the Ravenclaw table. "I shall leave you know, after a few notes on the rules and regulations of Hogwarts." Artemis almost chuckled, but stopped himself when he realized a few of the Ravenclaw people were looking right at him. "The Forbidden Forest is off limits, unless you happen to have express permission from administration, which we never give out anyways. Filch would like to add that his list of forbidden items has been lengthened, and although it is a tad long to say here, you may view it on the bulletin boards." He looked at a straggly man, probably Filch from his scowl. "Anything else?"

Filch glared at the assembly, and spoke up in gravelly tones. "From certain" He glanced at two particular people in the Gryffindor House—two Weaselys—and returned to the talk. It did not escape Artemis' notice that the objects of his annoyance were grinning at each other in a most guilty way. "_people_, I have learned that some think that the Observation Platform is a night-club or some such nonsense. Mrs. Norris shall be making sure that no such thing shall happen again." His glare intensified as a few people made mock-kicks towards the tabby-cat curled around his worn boots. "Understood?"

A chorus of _yes'_s—and quite a few _no'_s—were piped back at him, and he left the Great Hall grumpily with Mrs. Norris, the apparent 'guard', stalking after him proudly. Too bad Artemis didn't like cats. He had plans for Filch, and his little cat too. 

Dumbledore looked after the retreating janitor mildly, and he returned to his speech. "Well, that shall be all for tonight. Before your stomach-growlings drown me out, I have four final words; _Nitwit_! _Blubber_! _Oddment_! _Tweak_!"

Artemis was confused over the words, until he saw the mounds of delectable food making the table groan beneath the weight. Everything was there….. except his favored caviar and earl-gray tea. The many other foods, from Yorkshire puddings to simmering bowls of chicken-noodle soup, were all hot, and begging to be eaten. Quickly, he piled the nearest dishes onto his plate. He was about to reach for a leg of roasted lamb before a horrible thought struck him; _What if it was poisoned_? It was perfectly possible, given the sheer number of enemies he had made during his short life. Paling a bit, he leaned back in his chair, only to find it was a backless bench—and he went tumbling onto the floor. 

Several snickers, most of them from the neighboring Slytherin table, met his ears. Brushing off his robes valiantly, he returned to the seat while retaining as much dignity as possible, and returned to his predicament.

The food could be poisoned. Or it could be perfectly safe. He glanced around at the students around him, seeing if any of them were dieing of botulism. The only thing they seemed to be falling for was the slight greenish tint from overeating. 

He scowled fiercely at his empty plate. He couldn't fear his enemies forever. There was a fine line between caution and paranoia. A _very_ fine line. But how to check?

Hw whipped out his wand, and whispered, "_Venomost_." to the heaped food in front of his plate. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, slowly, it emitted a faint—but very real—green glow. 

"Poison." He whispered, backing as far as he could from the glowing plate without falling again. Someone was out to get him. The plate was bespelled to taint whatever was on it to kill the eater quickly. That was him, and this was _not_ good. Feeling slightly sick, he turned to Cho, who was delicately nibbling on a peppermint. "When are we leaving for our dormitories?"

Cho looked slightly surprised, but she said, "Soon. You can actually depart now, if you so wish. Penelope Clearwater, the Prefect, told me that the password was, 'Mistletoe'." She looked at him, her eyes gleaming a bit with curiosity. "Do you know where it is?"

Artemis nodded curtly, and walked as fast as he could towards the exit. Some others were leaving for their House Dormitories as well, including Hermione. 

His mind flickered over the memorized blueprints of Hogwarts. Their paths would be the same for a while, and it was high time that he made her acquaintance properly. After all, she _had_ beaten him. He could not afford to underestimate her again. 

He sped up a bit as Hermione turned a corner, and was soon walking besides her stride by side and very alone in the long hallway. 

It was Hermione who broke the silence by wheeling around and glaring at him. He stopped as well, and she planted a cross finger on his chest. "I don't know who you think you are, but it is not nice to follow people when it is not necessary."

Artemis grinned slightly. "Actually, it is necessary because this also happens to be the fastest path to Ravenclaw." 

Hermione's eyes softened a bit. "So I heard. Congratulations."

"I did not want to be in Ravenclaw, _mademoiselle_." He said sharply.

Her eyebrows raised slightly, and a shocked expression formed on her face as she realized the full impact of his words. "You _wanted_ to be in _Slytherin_? SLYTHERIN?!"

Artemis shrugged. "Can you blame me?"

Her eyes narrowed again. "Yes, I _can_ blame you since you are acting like someone who can't change. We've all heard of the great, the evil Hugo de Fóle, and how he ransacked the ancient Faerie Realms. All those with Muggle parents were weaned on nightmarish stories on the news of what crime your family may have committed today." She laughed bitterly. "We've all heard of your evilness, Artemis. But what of your good? Is there nothing in that black little heart of yours?" At the end, she looked shocked at herself, but she let the harsh words stand, and she fled to the Gryffindor dormitory. 

He stared after her, taken aback. It was the first time anyone had dared speak to him so since Holly's capture. She had no problem speaking her mind, and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Women. 

He frowned slightly, and continued to Ravenclaw's tower. His mind was reeling from all the events that had happened to him; two attempted murderers, being second best, going to Hogwarts, sorted into Ravenclaw…. 

This would require a lot of thought. And a lot of research. Thank goodness for computers.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Holly looked at Artemis' forlorn figure, alone and confused. For a moment, pity flashed through her for him, but was erased by a bone-deep hatred of her ex-captor. He had imprisoned her once, and she had almost died in his attempt to gain more gold. He had no compassion.

She frowned. So many people were trying to kill him… Not including themselves, of course. They were just trying to bring him back to Haven for a nice chat with Root and a mind-wipe to go. Traces of poisons had been found all over his Gryffindor room, although McGonagall said she had taken care of that. Trapping spells had been placed all around his favorite chair in the library, which they had been forced to remove under LEP guidelines for the protection of Mud-Men lives. A smudge of a shadow could have been seen lurking around his window on the castle wall at night, although it had always managed to elude their grasp. 

"Holly?" whispered Trouble at her side, nudging her in the ribs. "We should probably be getting out of here. The Spiders will be coming out at dusk.

She grimaced. They had found a hole in the anti-technology aura around Hogwarts about a half-mile into the Forbidden Forest. After they had retrieved their dumped technology and returned to the glade, they had made a brief contact with Foaly. Much to her annoyance, it wasn't until the third call that he had even figured out what was going on. Foaly seemed a bit rusty.

They had been walking between Hogwarts and the make-shift tree-house they had made in the glade, code-named 'Faerie's Gambit', for the past few days, trying to find an opportunity to capture Artemis without alerting that fool Dumbledore. It was trying indeed to have Trouble at her tail (Not literally) at every single moment, but they had learned their lesson from the failed kidnapping attempt. They had to learn to work as a team.

"D'arvit." She breathed, and turned to leave before the flood of students came from the feast. It appeared although they may need to enlist the help of a student. Female, preferably… 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Again, I am sorry for both the reasons listed previously and the fact that this wasn't a 'funny' chapter. Far from it. It goes uphill from 'Chapter Nine: Introduction to 666'. That won't be here for another two weeks, although 'Enter the Shadow' is coming along. As soon as I finish that (By the end of March, hopefully) I will turn more attention to this and you can expect twice a week updates. The plot shall not get any more complicated then this, since I've introduced all the needed elements to it. Not including, of course, Artemis dealing with his criminality and the Golden Trio. 

If you are mad at me for sticking him in Ravenclaw, I am truly sorry. Here are my reasons that aren't plot-spoilers:

1. I wasn't going to make this 'Just another crossover'. I hate clichés, although I enjoy making the best of them.

2. Artemis is, after all, a genius. He is that, in my mind, before an _evil_ genius. 

3. Ravenclaw is my favorite house.

4. I wanted a larger rivalry between the four houses: Draco Malfoy vs. the Golden Trio vs. Artemis Fowl vs. Cedric Diggory (Yes, there shall be a bit of him. Not as much as Malfoy and the Trio, of course). 

That is all I can reveal without a humongous plot spoiler that will haunt you for the rest of the story.

PS. Penelope Clearwater is Percy's crush, in case you don't know. 

PPS. From here on out, I shall be working off notes that I take from Science Olympiad banter, so here are the credits for participants in my inspirational dialogue:

1. ME!, the Shrimp 

2. Eric 'Egghead' Lunderburg 'the Sane'

3. Nick 'Knickerbockers' Nardin

4. Leslie Vaas 'the Chameleon'

5. Betsy Krupar 'the Parrot'

6. Andrea Lynema 'the Seal'

7. Jim 'Hobbit-boy' Lonergan (He looks just like one.)

Well, that's it for another two weeks. Until then, Namárië,

_*`~Nallasariel the Weeper_


	10. Introduction to 666

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except most of the insane Ravenclaw people. Every single one of them is based on a person I know, and there is one that is me. Credits for who's who are at the end of this chapter. Poe is not mine. Lenore is awesome, and there shall be more of her later. Just you wait… *cackles*

**_A VERY IMPORTANT NOTE:_**_ You know how Harry had all the mini-problems in the book? Well, guess what; so does Artemis! I made up a literal horde of OC's to fill in Ravenclaw a bit for this purpose. Just you wait until Dorian comes into the picture… _

Leslie and anyone else I know at school, I would like to state that I DO NOT like in THAT way any of the people my OCs resemble. Savvy?****

 '666' is the number of Armageddon, and can be substituted as a less polite word for 'heck'.

Let the Mayhem begin!

Chapter Nine: Introduction to 666

~~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Artemis stared blankly at the portrait before him. It had no special merit of any sort, unless you consider the fact that it moved special in this insane world he was in. The lady was of the crabby variety, with an uncanny resemblance to a classical Salem-style witch. On her black-cloaked shoulder was a crackling Raven of the same hue of her ebony hair, and her deep blue eyes, similar to his own, glittered with a sharp intelligence that hinted of secrets and long-dead languages within her mind. 

"Nevermore!" croaked the raven, flapping his wings a bit on the witch's shoulder. 

The witch shot the raven an annoyed glance, and then turned back to Artemis. "Can't stop quoting Edgar Allen Poe. Nice fellow. Met him once. A bit depressed, all the same." She said by way of explanation. "What did you say your name was?"

"Artemis Fowl, Madame." He said quietly, looking at the raven. 

The woman's eyes gleamed. "The Second, am I right?"

His eyes narrowed at the witch. "Yes…" he said cautiously, and then added, "What would be your name?"

"Lenore." She said simply, and Artemis' eyebrows flew up in surprise. She laughed, and the raven joined in. 

"_The_ Lenore? From Poe's 'The Raven'?"

The witch nodded, and the Raven croaked, 'Nevermore nevermore." 

Artemis' forehead creased. "Then you must have been his muse, or something."

Lenore grinned. "Yes. He courted me for a while, and after I left to go to Beauxbatons, he was rather depressed. Hence the poem about me and Ebon here." Ebon cackled raucously.

Artemis sighed. "Well, although this conversation has been most enlightening, I have business to attend to within the dormitory. _Mistletoe_."

The witch smiled, and swept back the hem of her black dress dramatically. The portrait opened, and Artemis found himself in the Ravenclaw dormitory. 

It was an elegant affair of dark blue velvet and bronze filigree, the epitome of understated grace. Neat lapis-lazuli couches and mahogany tables were scattered liberally about the azure carpet, and twin staircases spiraled up into the stair-painted ceiling. 

He craned his head upward, and he saw it was only a clever illusion that the stairs twirled away into the sea of constellations and stars, nothing more. All the same, the seemingly infinite ocean of darkness gave him a ghostly reminder of the depth of Lenore's eyes. Shivering, he went to the left-hand one, and walked slowly up it. Just in time, as well. A horde of Ravenclaws poured through the portrait-hole, and he went up the last few steps of the staircase at a run. 

Cocking his head slightly, Artemis listened to see if anyone else was climbing up the bronze stairs. By the laughter, it sounded like they were having a party down in the Common Room. A crafty smile curved his lips. He could have some time to unweave the webs of conspiracy around him. 

He sat down next to his chest, apparently brought here by the House-Elves, and undid the complicated locking charm surrounding it with a few intricate gestures. The lid opened without complaint, and he slid the fairy laptop out from the hidden side compartment. Picking himself off of the floor and sitting squarely on his bed, he pressed the 'on' button.

Nothing.

Frowning, he pressed it again, listening for that characteristic _whirr_ of the computer. 

A few droplets of rain splattered on the window, deafening in the silent room.

Artemis scowled fiercely at the innocent laptop. Why did these things always happen to the best meaning of people? Like him, although many would violently disagree. 

He forced himself to breathe slowly, following the meditation pattern Butler had coached him in. _In and out… in and out…_ Soon, he was logically analyzing the problem, as he always had.

Technology apparently didn't work at Hogwarts. There was no explanation whatsoever. He had thought that maybe Fairy technology might have, but, judging by the fact that Holly's rather nasty gun refused to shoot, the two brands of magic were not compatible. This could lead to some rather nasty problems. 

If he could not access his criminal activities from here, the empire he had taken so long to build would come crashing around his head. He had to somehow get access to the Internet. It was only a matter of time before he became a raving loony from lack of world news. He shuddered at that thought; himself reduced to a gibbering moron would be a sure sign of impending Armageddon. 

The sound outside his dormitory crescondoed, and a rattle from the stairs announced that a mob of people were coming up. Having no wish to be questioned, Artemis hastily shoved the laptop back into its small compartment and pulled out a random book. 

He just managed to plop down on his bed in a position of more-or-less boredom when a dozen boys stampeded into the dormitory, chattering more obnoxiously then Lenore's raven. 

"..and did you see that ace he played on Spader's queen? Whoo-wee! That was one _sweet_ deal!"

"What about m'hand with the three kings and the queen of spades? You all got a bazillion points for that round…"

" _I_ still say that Jack's four jacks rocked that full house of Chance's."

_Card players_. Artemis thought, trying to bury himself deep into his book before any more of his brain cells fried. _I might have known._

To his horror, he started reading the book, and discovered that it was one of Juliet's; _One hundred ways to cheat in cards_. 

One of the chattering boys must have noticed, because the whole horde of them decided to spontaneously group around his bed, trapping him. Before he could draw the navy-blue curtains back to retreat to safety, two of the boys had the cords wrapped around their wrists, twirling them too close to Artemis' head for comfort.

"You wanna play cards?" one of them asked curiously, his buggy eyes inches from Artemis' face. He was sorely tempted to jab them with his wand, but he desisted.

"I'd rather not." He said coldly, trying to hide the cover of the book from the inquisitive boys. 

Too late; the same boy did back off a bit, but not before snatching Artemis' book from his hands. "Look at this! A book on cheating! Chance could probably use that, especially after that nasty hand of yours that you played against Spader."

One of the boys with ferociously red hair—the one they called 'Chance'—glared at the inquisitor. "I think you, Spader, need it more then _me_." Several of the boys laughed at the first boy, who blushed a deep scarlet. 

"Well….. You couldn't even beat Jack!" the boy stuttered, red with fury. Several of the boys _ooh_ed at this, and all turned to a boy with sloppy brown hair. 

'Jack' turned towards Spader, clenching his fists. " _What_ did you just call me?" he asked, his voice soft and dangerous. 

Without warning, Spader brought up his fist and in a blur punched Jack right in the mouth. Within seconds the mob of boys were reduced to a bunch of howling loonies, all trying to hit whoever and whatever got in their way. 

Artemis sprang back, letting the now ripped pages fall to the floor. _Evidence destroyed _he thought aimlessly. He whipped out his wand, and did a blocking hex which repelled all people within a five foot radius. Many of the boys flew back, landing in conveniently placed beds, and continued to brawl. 

Artemis, as inconpiciously as he could, placed a Protection Spell on him and all of his belongings. Then, almost as an afterthought, he placed one on the window as well. Drafts were a horrible thing to fall asleep to. Wading through a sea of fighting boys, he swiftly made his way through to the door—

And into the face of Professor McGonagall. 

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Holly looked at the situation below and frowned. Fire-fights were fun, in a very dangerous sense, but tavern fights were only a temptation to use others as anger management. As these foolish card players were doing now.

She was currently in the rafters of the dormitory, alone and without Trouble at her side. She was about to swoop down and disarm Fowl to fulfill her long-awaited kidnap when those fools came in and within a minute started a fight worthy of remembrance. Something almost _always_ interrupted her, whether the entry of the Carnival of Fools or having your plan hoodwinked by a rather moronic mistake. She seemed to have the worst of luck… 

The door below opened as Artemis went to leave the dormitory. Frankly, she couldn't blame him. Morons were a most unpleasant thing to deal with, especially ones that—

_McGonagall_. 

She stepped through the doorway, hazel eyes glittering with righteous anger. Artemis stepped back with one fluid moment, shock that mirrored her own precisely in his twilight eyes. All of the brawling stopped instantly, due to the aura of sheer authority that followed her everywhere. If it could stop Butler from shooting her on the spot, it was certainly good enough to stop the rapscallions. 

Her breath caught in her throat. McGonagall was one of those rare individuals who acted as a bridge between the Fairy world and the Wizarding universe, someone who could always see through the biases of both parties (Not that Holly would admit _she_ had any biases.). The carefully sown threads of agreement between the vitally different worlds, however, were coming dangerously close to shattering with McGonagall's outright refusal to assist in the capture of a certain dangerous fugitive. Every night at Faerie's Gambit, she fully expected new orders from Root and the Council to kidnap McGonagall as well. 

"Mister Fowl, if you would kindly step out of my way…" Minerva said, sending a shudder up Holly's spine. They were friends, or as close as a Mud-Woman and an Elf could get. Ever since the rather unfortunate night that she had saved McGonagall from certain death, they had remained more-or-less in sporadic contact, and she acted as the primary in-between for McGonagall and the Council. But now…

Artemis did step out of the way, and McGonagall apparently could not keep back a sharp gibe. "Shoddy Blocking Charm, Mister Fowl. That is apparently something we shall have to work on tomorrow." Artemis' fists clenched, although he made no response. There was no excuse for a badly-done spell, not even for a Squib. 

McGonagall turned towards the now sheepish card-players, harsh disapproval written all over her face, right down to the thin lips. "Tell, me, _gentlemen_, why do you think that just because the Head of Ravenclaw is currently in a discussion with some of the other teachers that you can brawl like common Muggles?"

One of the boys, identified as 'Chance' by Holly, tentatively raised his hand. "But I _am_ a Muggle, missus." His face turned a rather nasty shade of white less then a second later. Even Holly was inclined to pity him. The rest of the boys, quite wisely, decided to keep silent, and McGonagall, apparently satisfied by the lack of noise, swept back out of the room again. 

Pandemonium was instant, although much quieter. Artemis slipped out of the dormitory after the Professor, and, although sorely tempted otherwise, Holly restrained her trigger hand. When she remembered that she had nothing to shoot, however, her curses were drowned out by the fighting boys below.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Artemis closed the door, closing his eyes against the sudden wave of exhaustion. _Holly. _She was still here, after him… He had thought she had learned her lesson, but apparently someone had to be given a few hexes as a reminder. 

His forehead creased in concentration. Was she the one trying to poison him? The Fairies normally weren't so blunt in their methods, and the Council would surely not approve of such motives… Yet, these were desperate times, and he was one of those people that only encouraged desperate times to occur. He might be an exception to their laws… 

*_grrrrrrMrrrrroooooomgrrrr_*

His stomach was still growling. That reminded him; how was he supposed to eat when Holly—no, innocent until proven guilty—_someone_ was trying to poison him? He had only brought so many rations, and spells could be renewed as long as the caster had strength. Unlike someone's starved body. 

It came to him like thunder.  _Hogsmeade_. Why hadn't he thought of it before? One of the diagrams of Hogwarts had shown a tunnel that led straight into the candy shop, where all the food he could ever desire lied. 

He shook his head. It wasn't the stealing part that bothered him; it was eating all that sugar. His brain could not suffer a glucose overload, except at great risk to his delicate operations. Hyper-ness was not something that Artemis looked forward to. 

That left one viable option; an antidote. He had suitable knowledge of potions, since it was one of the magical arts he favored; very precise and delicate. It took a lot of skill to invent concoctions and guess at their result, and complex things were just the sort of thing Artemis loved. The spell had shown a mix of hemlock and poison water chestnut; both very virulent venoms that killed swiftly and painlessly. Whoever was trying to kill him obviously didn't bear him much of a grudge. Perhaps an antidote of chamomile and elderberry? Maybe with a touch of persimmon essence? 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice when the annoying red-head from the Hall stopped right in front of him and started taking notes again. When he finally realized the blue dots dancing across his vision was certainly _not_ caused by lack of food, he glared at the girl in front of him. "What do you want?" he snapped, not at all in the mood to be disturbed from his thoughts. 

The girl looked up at him, her clear blue eyes looking deeply into his own. "You have fascinating eyes." She stated simply, and returned to whatever she was scribbling. 

Artemis' eyes widened in surprise. "What?" he asked, much taken aback. He had never had anyone speak to him so before. Then again, he hadn't been surrounded by people who dared to look him in the eye. 

The red-head flipped her notebook around, revealing an almost perfect drawing of his eyes. Despite the fact he saw them everyday in the mirror, Artemis was unduly surprised by the depth in them. Even though it was only a charcoal sketch, he could somehow _feel_ that they were twilight blue…

"Not bad." He said quietly to the girl, but she didn't notice, being too absorbed in finishing the drawing. After waiting a few moments, he swept past her. She didn't even care, but turned to get a proper view of him for her picture. At least, he _hoped_ it was for the picture.

With one finger delicately trailing the bronze rail, he walked down the stairs, taking careful note of his surroundings. Not all the boys had been up there arguing about cards, or any of the girls, for many of them were down there gossiping away. He was about to turn around to more interesting events when Cho caught sight of him. "'llo, Artemis! Want to join us?" Several of her friends giggled at this, but Cho shot them a withering glance and continued. "We're talking 'bout some of the Gryffindors!" One of her friends muttered under her breath, 'Harry Potter.', and the whole group burst into a fit of renewed laughter. Cho remained quite cool, and turned back to Artemis. "Come on!" 

Artemis shook his head; he _despised_ gossipers. If you had little better to do then to talk about someone's mistakes and their popularity, they had no life. And apparently, the whole dormitory was full of these potential inmates at the local insane asylum. S

Someone to his left grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, and he whirled around, only to find himself looking down at a smallish boy with wide brown eyes. "Can you help me?" he asked, eyes entreating for aid. 

_Yes I can help you. _Artemis thought. _With a nice Quieting Hex and a Petrifying Curse to boot_. He loosened the boy's rather harsh hold on his shirt, and it tore with a definite _rip_. Quite angry now, he turned to go to the dormitories where he had at least his books to escape to when the red-head walked right into him. Suffice to say, oil pastels were in places they were simply not meant to be and papers were flying in the air. 

Artemis, muttering darkly about what he would do once he finished _The Calling_, practically ran up the stairs to the dormitories. So this is what dear Hermione had to live with last year. Morons at every corner and flying objets that somehow manage to stain even the reputably stain-proof Armani loafers. Right now, he would envy the man in _The Pit and the Pendulum_. At least he knew what he was dealing with.

He was not pleased that, when the door opened, a deck of cards flew right into his face, accompianed by the soaring body of Chester 'Chance' Berling. 

~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't get half the stuff I planned on getting done this chapter. Oh well. Did you like it? Lots more on the individual Ravenclaw 'Morons' next chapter. None of this was planned ahead of time, although, I have to say, chapter 11 will be quite a treat if you love humor. It's already written and I know you're going to love it. Leslie, Betsy, and whoever else is reading this from MY school, that is where the 'Hot Guy' incident has been transfigured for this story. 

Next chapter is primarily the beginning of the next day (I take things slow, in case you haven't noticed. I prefer stories with lots of story to them, and thus most of mine shall be the same in that respect.), in which Artemis gets a rather unpleasant schedule, and I catch up on various other characters. Probably a check-up on how Mary Sue and Juliet are settling in, how Butler is handling the reporters while keeping dear Angeline Fowl out of the matter, and the fate of Root's cigars. Nothing is set in stone yet, but it shall be something like that.

I have gotten a few questions regarding Hermione; namely, is she going to fall for Artemis in this. The answer is a definite 'No', at least for this particular year. I am wary of writing romance, since I happen to have little interest in it (I'm barely 14, for goodness' sake). If anything, it shall occur around late 3rd year or 4th year (I'm leaning towards the 4th year, myself) and is probably not going to be Artemis/Hermione and certainly not Artemis/Holly. I have a vague idea, but I don't know yet.

Does anyone know the head of the Ravenclaw House? I looked and looked, but I couldn't find it. Merci!

And one last thing; the sequel to this is going to be out of Hogwarts, after he recovers his memories from EC. I already have the outline done (It's a very rich story that leans more on emotional complexes then humor, although it IS there) and the first 5 chapters. Another version of it is going to also be made for things outside of the Magic and Mayhem sequence.

I plan to write these until I am old and gray. It can just keep going on and on and on and on and on…

Longer reviews with more helpful advice shall probably be mentioned on this, if it is any incentive for more critiques. I like advice! I want to grow as a writer, not just sit and stagnant. 

Namárië,

*`~Nallasariel the Weeper


	11. Schedules

Disclaimer: I am evil, so I steal other people's plots and characters. You can tell which ones aren't stolen because they tend to be incessantly annoying. Like dear Chance, Jack and Spader… They were fun to make. Don't worry, since a fourth card player shall be added in a few chapters… Oh, credits for their true creators! List is at the end. 

And Flitwick is the head of House, and I do realize that the entrance to Ravenclaw is through a 'Knight', not dear Lenore. Don't worry, because there shall be a knight…. MUHAHAHA!

I tweaked the schedules. Don't kill me. Please.

Short chapter. I don't care. I had to have a good ending point. 

Chapter Ten: Schedules

~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Although the night did not pass easily for Artemis, he struggled through it as every genius trying to get some sleep would, finding comfort in thoughts of Chance becoming a hamburger-flipper at McDonalds. The trio, apparently oblivious to the fact that 'Hearts' was a _four_-person game, played all through the night, not slackening the least bit in sound. If Artemis had a penny for every time he tossed in turn in his vain attempts to get some sleep, he would have no need for Fairy gold or _The Calling_. He would have dumped the entire truckload on the trio's sorry little heads and let them talk all they wanted six feet under. 

The morning, however, eventually did come. The first rays of a bright dawn peeped through the stain-glass raven in the window, making Artemis blink against the light. He briefly considered not getting out of bed in favor of sleeping through his first day, at least, until the grinning faces of Chance and Spader appeared overhead, both sets of bright eyes red from lack of sleep. 

"Can you help us get Jack out of bed?" Spader asked, brushing back his loose black hair so it was out of his face. It was not particularly long; just very _very_ wavy. It looked as if he had spent hours trying to get it to be just the right mixture of roguishness and neatness. As it turned out, he _had_ spent a rather obscene amount of time working to get his hair right. Many of the local Ravenclaw girls happened to appreciate this. 

Artemis mumbled something incoherent, and tried to suffocate himself with his pillow. After being foiled by the loose weave, he lifted himself from the deep blue bed and glared at Spader. "What time is it?" he asked the card-player, ignoring his inquiry. 

Spader shrugged and looked Chance, who glanced at his watch. Chance stared intently at it for several minutes, and at long last said, "Ten to eight."

Artemis, had he not been a reposed genius, might have leaped out of bed and clobbered both to the ground (Unsuccessfully, I might add). Breakfast began at Eight, and he had to repair the dignified image. 

After shoving Spader and Chance aside with as little politeness as possible, Artemis reached for his chest. He had a lot of preparations to do before the next encounter with the poisoner.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Eleven minutes later found dear Artemis rushing into the Great Hall with a very out-of-breath knot of Ravenclaw people. The morning feast had just started, and since there were many other late people they passed to their seats relatively unnoticed. Artemis slid in between the red-head (Still sketching in that notebook of hers, giving him the unpleasant feeling of being spied upon) and Cho, who was gossiping away with her friends again. 

"Venemost." He whispered to his plate, wand pointing at it inconspicuously from his lap. Much to his surprise (And fulfillment), it didn't glow green. It had worked…

You see, dear Artemis had found a rather clever way of getting around the poison. If he was not already there and the plates were already laid out, how could the poisoner know which plate to bespell? They had no assigned seats, so it had to stand back helplessly as Artemis ate as quickly as he could to make up for last night's fast. That's why it's called _break_fast. 

By the time the schedules were passed down, Artemis was feeling quite happy. That feeling was quickly erased as he saw what his schedules were. They almost all matched up with Gryffindor's… and Slytherin's.

First hour was Potions with Gryffindor, a mixed blessing. Hermione was there, and… she was there. 

Second was Defense Against Dark Arts with Slytherin and Gryffindor, which he expected to be a load of utter rubbish. Lockhart had seemed like a total nitwit from the books, and he had already learned much. The only thing of interest in that class was the banter between Slytherin and Hufflepuff…. And, again, Hermione.  

Third was Herbology with Slytherin. He certainly did not care for getting dirt under his nails for the sake of a few plants, and he certainly did not care for 'hanging out' with a bunch of arrogant morons. 

Fourth, right after lunch, was Care of Magical Creatures…alone. Ditto for that; he was not here to roll in the mud. He was here to hopefully learn and become powerful. Gold is Power, and Power is Gold. You do not get power by feeding flobberworms. 

Next was Transfiguration with Gryffindor, which he was looking forward to. It sounded like the most useful of his classes, and Hermione would undoubtedly like the competition. Goodness knows he would; he had had none for a very long time. 

The last of the every-day classes was History of Magic. Again, he did not care for the present, and he wasn't excited with being in with Slytherin either. It would be yet another hour to allow his mind to plot and scheme.

Astronomy was once a week on Tuesday evenings, all alone with his House. That he might enjoy. The stars always fascinated him, and undoubtedly Wizards had an interesting take on them that would be drastically different then what he had learned. 

"Artemis?" The red-head asked, prodding him gently on the shoulder. It took a few moments to sink in that those were the first words she had spoken to him, and he turned to look at her. She was pointing at the card-players with one end of her wand, who were arguing with each other as Chance scooped up the pile of Knuts they had wagered. 

He stifled a smile at their sight. They looked truly ridiculous. "Yes?" 

Nothing answered him, and when he turned to see what was happening she was gone. _Girls_ he decided concisely as he got up to go to his first class. _Too confusing._

If only he knew….

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Holly glared at Trouble, who seemed to have a certain difficulty with grasping the concept of 'silent'. After catching her fiery gaze he fell silent, but his footfalls did not. Every step seemed like a thunder to Holly's jittery nerves, and the eerie quietness in the forest was not helping the least bit.

They were walking in the Forbidden Forest towards Faerie's Gambit after a hard day's work at trying to capture Artemis once more. They had agreed unanimously not to pursue Artemis on his first day and to take a break. Or rather, they would have taken a break had they not become hopelessly lost within the forest.

She shivered as one of the coils of mist brushed past one pointy ear. The fog only heightened the sense of the supernatural in this forest, and it seemed ever-present. Light outright refused to break through the dense latticework of leaves above, and all was in a twilight that seemed all too much like a downed tunnel that had a slight green tint to it. The rich forest loam did not wholly absorb the sound of cracking twigs beneath Trouble's feet, which made her elbow him in the ribs. 

"What?" he whispered to her, unwilling to shatter the silence permeating the woods.

"Silent!" she seethed angrily into his ear, elbowing him again. "I think we're almost there…" 

And she was right; the faint yellowish glow of true sunlight seemed to come from the mists in front of them. They nearly tripped over one another in their hast to get to the source of the glow.

Faerie's Gambit was a truly lucky find. They had found it by pure chance, which could have been explained by the Fairy-people's inherent luck. It lay in a small grove, one of the few places where both sunlight came in and friendly-ness was true. A ramshackle house of stones and sticks and been constructed with _separate_ bunks for the two, as well as rudimentary furniture. A woodpile—the wood, of course, had been taken on the tree-sprites' permission—was stacked haphazardly near one side of the grove to warm the cold forest nights. In front of the cottage on a lone shelf, which had been thankfully untouched by the forest creatures, was their sole food supply.

Holly managed to beat Trouble to it and snatched up the pellets of concentrated rations. They had gone back and recovered their gear from where they had left it and pulled out the food rations, which were more then enough to last a month. A few baskets, weaved clumsily by the Fairies, held what little food they had found in the forest, like berries and a few wild onions and potatoes. Dried watercress and mint leaves hung overhead in a tangled knot, bringing some freshness to the glade. This was their temporary home. At least, Holly _hoped_ it was temporary. 

Trouble finally sat down with an appreciative sigh onto one of the log-benched they had made. Berry juices stained his face, making Holly laugh openly. He looked confused until Holly pointed at they small stream running nearby. He got up and looked into the rippling reflection, and he laughed too. Life wasn't so bad anymore. It wasn't the best, by any means, but it was more then they expected in the certainly unwanted company of Wizards. 

Holly let the smile stay on her face, and she reached for the berries as well.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Juliet looked back with a sigh at their new home, truly appreciative of the fashion-savvy Mary had so much of. It looked wonderful, completely different from the dilapidated ruin they had come across a few days ago. It was all white stucco, enchanted not to stain, with a nice gray-tile roof. The front lawn had been painstakingly cleared of garbage and weeds, and then fresh grass was transferred from the local gardening store. Pretty flowers (Purple and pink, of course) waved just inside the boundary of the white picket fence, and the pet houses they had made for their 'familiars', as Mary called them, were neat in the morning sunshine. 

She frowned as Artemis tackled Apollo firmly onto the ground, not letting go until the larger kitten writhed beneath her grasp. Her cats were troublesome, always picking fights with another, with Precious (Who cowered in the safety of its pen), with the owls (Hooting anxiously in the roof-top eyrie) and with Mary-Sue. They were downright fearful of doing anything bad within her sight, but the golden-haired furballs found no problem with becoming the local bullies. 

"You really should do something about those cats." Mary commented dryly, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. "They're going to hurt poor Precious at the rate they're going."

Juliet smirked. The pink paint that had 'accidentally' fallen on Precious while the painting process had not come out of her fur—and thus Precious became pink. It helped that Juliet had slipped a Permanent Charm to keep it like that, but it had given Mary a reason to let her paint her room the colors she wanted. Sure, green with bits of hot-pink didn't look good together, but they were still her favorite colors. Green was winning in favoritism now, ever since she started to fall into her role as a far-away body guard. Pink was still prettier.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Butler groaned as he slid the length to floor against the door, fervently hoping that his massive bulk (All muscles, of course) would keep it shut long enough so the Paparazzi might give up and just go away. They never gave up, but just keep coming and coming and coming….

If went on for much more, he was afraid he would have to cal whatever sorry excuse for a police force Ireland had. They had, after all, failed to catch Artemis on ever single criminal enterprise he had completed.

His groan deepened to one of despair. He was doomed. 

~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That was a short chapter, but I don't really care. It was mostly catching up on the dear characters.

Credits for the Card Players:

Jack: Jeff Cole

Spencer 'Spader': Khoa Nguyen

Chester 'Chance': David Mellendorf (Although a much stupefied version of him, I'm afraid)

Quinn 'Queen': Sun Yang, Stephanie Morris and Tanya Le. Oh, and a touch of Alexandria 'Lexi' Egedy. She's for a few chapters from now, in Hufflepuff.

Rachel (The red-head): Artistically: Leslie Vaas and Tanya Le. Mentally: Arien Camariel (MY CHARCTER), Circe (MY CHARACTER), and bits of me. 

Namárië,

*`~Nallasariel the Weeper


	12. Potions and Predicaments

Disclaimer: If you are reading this, I applaud your attentiveness for my every word, but I shall also mock your boredom with these two words in High Arayan: _Shitaki__ cryfiar!_ I shall not translate them, although I'm sure those who have read my 'Arilyn Chronicles' understand, LOL. Unless… ***gasp*** You actually consider these words worth reading?!

If this chapter sounds overly humorous and OOC, forgive me. I just got back Science Olympiad Regional Tournament, and not only are we going on to state, but my neck hurts from all my gorgeous medals. Let's see… Fossils…. Dynamic Planet… Process Skills for Life Science… That's it? Oh; I ALMOST got two more *mutters about stupid White Pines Middle School beating me*. I did great, I'm actually happy for once, and the soundtrack for _The Return of the King_ is blasting at 60 decibels in my ears. Who wouldn't be pleased?

I'm now writing this for two reasons;

A) To work on humorous stuff. I have one humorous original fic that I'm working on ('The Continuing Adventures of Rómensûl', for those that know me personally), and I need to work on that, mostly because it goes with my Arilyn fic.

B) So I can get to the sequel. The sequel gets deep into angst, my favorite thing to write. I already have it all written out, and it deals with the events after Eternity Code. It has touches of humor in it, but so far it is my crowning achievement as a writer. Writing that was my best two weeks _ever _as a writer. I know you'll love it, but I have to drag my way through this first.

Oh, and I moved up the year in which Fred and George start their dear company. After all, Artemis needs a bit of competition in that area as well. Yes, he's going to try and squeeze as much money as he can out of the Hogwarts. To quote Captain Jack Sparrow from _The Pirates of the Caribbean_, 'I couldn't resist, mate.' I just love that quote. With it, you could get away with just about anything.

Someone stated in an anonymous review that 'belle' was not a word for girl in French. In the more poetic and story-sense, it can be used so. It technically (At least, by the dictionary in front of me) means either 'beauty' or 'a fair girl in either countenance or mind'. I don't know about you, but I think the second part of the second definition fits Hermione pretty well. 

Oh, and one final note: This chapter primarily lays down the foundations for the next one, which gives the 'mayhem' to the title. That one is where I make up for the lack of humor in these last few chapters.

NOW to the story.

Chapter Eleven: Potions and Plots

~~~~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Artemis somehow managed to drag himself to his first class; Potions. He had high hopes for that class, mostly because he had heard so many complaints about it its difficulty from Cho and her clique of gossipers. The journey down was a slow one, weaving through the crowds and trying to figure out his way through the winding corridors, but he managed to get second into the classroom. Hermione was the first.

She was bent over her overly large stack of notes and books, scribbling away on some parchment sheets. With a slight smile, he sat right next to her.

Hermione, of course, glared at him. "There are other seats, you know." She said huffily, abandoning her notes in favor of crossing her arms.

"This is front and center." He pointed out. And it was true; those two seats had the best view of the board on which he assumed Snape would later write upon, as well as the demonstrative cauldron. 

She narrowed her eyes, and he smiled slightly. After several moments of the exchanged glares, she cried out in exasperation, "Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

Artemis snorted in disbelief, taking out his book, quill and parchment. "If I remember right, _you_ were the one who first talked to me."

Her eyes widened out of more shock at his daring to retort then from the actual words. She remained speechless for several long moments, and his tell-tale smirk widened. With a final _hmmph__!_, she turned back to her notes. 

Other people began to slowly enter the forbidding dungeon, looking quite fearful themselves at the return to their nemesis class. Most of them paused to look about the room in fear, especially at the shrunken mandrake heads on the mantle of the green fire.  

Of course, no one sat near the muttering Hermione, nor the pale boy with the vampiric smirk on his face. It took a full ten minutes for two boys to gather their courage enough to sit by Hermione.

Artemis looked over at them with a slight smile curving his lips. One was obviously Harry Potter, although he had done a good job at trying to hide the scar on his forehead, and the other was undoubtedly Ron Weasley by the blatantly red hair. They both glared at him, and then exchanged questioning looks with Hermione. She whispered something to them which, despite all of Artemis' conspicuous efforts, could not be heard. They shrugged, and brought out their supplies.

No one needed their cauldrons on the first day, something that Artemis was very grateful for.  Lugging around a cauldron was almost as appealing as feeding the flobberworms in the Magical Creatures class. The same was for their ingredients, of which he had still to clean out Juliet's cat's mess. Once they got into the real stuff, they would supposedly keep their Potions supplies in-class, but he would rather procrastinate about things like that. So out of character for a genius such as him, yes, but he had bigger things to worry about. 

Artemis looked at some of the other people filing in, trying to place the names with their appearances. There were many schemes spinning through his head for Hogwarts, and almost all of them involved other people. He had heard from Cho and her little club—they were actually quite useful, now that he had though about it—that the current troublemakers were Fred and George Weasley, twin brothers of the pair sitting down three seats in the row. 

All stories about the pair, whether about how dashing they were—those stories made him shake his head at such nonsense—or at their notorious pranks in and around the school, had made Artemis applaud their creativity. He doubted that they would help him, being in the ever-so-righteous, but they would be interesting adversaries in trying to gain control of the Hogwarts market. He had learned that had started a small 'company', Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes, which dealt in things that were general annoyances to teachers. Since that was one of the markets Artemis was planning on cornering, he had believed he actually had some serious competition. 

Of course, they were suspects as to who the would-be poisoner was, but they were pretty low on Artemis' list. He doubted it was the Fairies; they were too proud to do something silly like that. Hermione? Never. She was too righteous, too smart, and he suspected that she actually wanted the rift between them so they could compete.

He knew her to be the smartest person in the entire school—after him, of course—and that she was actually getting a bit bored with the classes there. He already knew that he would be bored as well, especially since Snape was bridging far past 'fashionably late', and thus making him a teacher that probably did not care a nit about his students. The only class he was remotely worried about was Potions, and only for the fact that Cho had many nasty stories about him.

Murmurs rippled through the classroom as the door flew open, and Snape came striding in. His dark hair was still very greasy—Didn't he take any pride in his appearance?—and his skin sallow as curdled milk. 

"I suppose you are all wondering why I was late to class?" Snape asked, sweeping up to the front of the room.

The class was silent, all thinking that it was a rhetorical question. They were wrong.

"Well?" Snape demanded, looking directly at Hermione. "Has our resident genius been rendered silent?"

Hermione blushed, and looked towards the ground. "No, sir." She whispered.  

Snape looked amused. "Then why was I late for class today, Ms. Granger?"

Her blush deepened. "I don't know, sir."

"Well well. She has been stumped. Ten points from Gryffindor."

The rest of the class—at least, all the Gryffindors—gasped at this outrage. How were they supposed to know how he was late?

Answering their unspoken question, Snape continued. "I was late because someone in the hall left this rather amusing picture." He pulled a carefully folded slip from his robes, and Artemis could see a rather idiotic grin inside the fold. It was…

"Lockhart." Snape confirmed, unfolding it for the whole class to see. "Someone had a picture of Lockhart which had apparently slipped—" he let the picture fall to the floor. "—from her book-bag."

_Or his_ Artemis thought darkly, and shuddered at the thought. 

Several of the girls paled as they saw the picture slid from Snape's hand, including, Artemis noted, Hermione. To her further embarrassment, it landed right at her feet.

"Pick it up." Snape said coolly, malicious delight in his dark eyes. 

Hermione's eyes flicked around the classroom, but she did not bend down to pick it up.

"Did you not hear me, Miss Granger? Or do you want more points taken from Gryffindor?"

Hermione shook her head mutely, and picked it up from the ground.

Snape began to pace in the front of the classroom. "Is that yours, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head again, and put the picture face-down on her desk.

"Whose is it then?" he asked, touching the top of the picture as if it were poison. 

Hermione looked up at Snape, flinching as her brown eyes met his dark ones. "I don't know." She said quietly.

"What did you say?' Snape asked her, almost mockingly. 

"I don't know." She said, a bit louder this time.

Snape broke the eye-contact, sweeping back around the front of the classroom. "Another ten points from Gryffindor for littering the hallways."

Gasps of outrage met this, but Snape did not care, instead beginning to write notes on the board in narrow, spidery handwriting. The class stood silent for a few moments, torn between an act of open rebellion or betraying the cause of the hurt pride.

Betrayal won, and the class brought out parchment to copy down notes of proper cauldron usage. So the most difficult class in Hogwarts began, and Artemis found it rather boring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That's all, folks. Don't be mad! The next chapter is going to be around 4,000 because it deals with The Incident at my school (Mithostwen, Parrot, and the Seal; this is Mr. Vanderslice's *behavior* towards a certain object of Sun Yang's… You know what I'm talking about!) It's really good, so I'll try to have it done by Friday. I don't know though, because I'm going to try and finish 'Enter the Shadow' over Spring Break…

Namárië,

*`~Nallasariel the Weeper


	13. The Secret Fan Club of Gilderoy Lockhart

Disclaimer: Not mine. Got it?

A/N: Well, when I got the reviews for last chapter, I must admit I had a good laugh. Do you people not read my notes or something? Anyways, I dealt with all you via e-mail. Just please pay more attention to these so you aren't all confused.

Updates are going to be once-weekly on Mondays, from now on. I'm trying to stay steady until summer, when I have no access to computers or the internet until school starts again. I'll try to get past the opening of the Chamber, or at least a reasonably good cliffie LOL.

Oh, and a few more things. I'm sorry for not updating for the last millennium, but it honestly wasn't my fault. Not only did I get a nasty arm injury, but I was grounded for 2 weeks when a combination of staying up too late to type and a sleepover in which we did not sleep much at all happened to anger the Almighty Head. I must apologize for this, and say that next time I'll be a little more careful about typing at three in the morning. As in I'll type quieter so mum doesn't notice.

No, one more thing. This section had to be split into several parts, unfortunately, due to the sheer length of it. Sorry.

I lied. The Card Players are in their second year, not their first (As was implied earlier).

Chapter Twelve: The Fan-Club of Gilderoy Lockhart

~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Artemis, after that rather informative Potions class had ended, was in a good mood. Snape had managed to take almost fifty points from Gryffindor, and none from Ravenclaw (Except for when Chance had accidentally tipped his simmering Dye Potion onto Snape's robes, turning them into a very bright shade of pink.)

His next class was one he certainly did not look forward to; Defense Against Dark Arts. While passing Cho in the halls he had heard her whisper to Penelope Clearwater, one of her elder friends, that Lockhart was a wonderful teacher. Meaning, of course, he was the nitwit his books made him out to be. 

He scowled at no one in particular, although an unfortunate first year who was in the line of fire cringed. He had learned absolutely nothing from that class other then not to upset Snape, and that was a given from their previous encounter. Quite frankly, he was beginning to think Hogwarts was a complete waste of time, and that he might have better served his time reading books at Flourish and Blotts, or going to the wizarding equivalent of the Library of Congress. (1)

After dodging a gigantic Slytherin's half-hearted attempt to trip him, he ducked into Lockhart's room. The heady smell of lilacs—Mother's scent, before Father had gone—filled his nose with regret. What was he getting himself into? The room resembled more of a half-wit's idea of a classroom, with wrongly constructed bestial bones (A dragon with a third wing. Honestly.) and several large, melodramatic cages that looked as if they could hold a Hippogriff, although by the high-pitched squealing from within, he doubted it.

And, of course, there was the pictures. Artemis had seen that Lockhart was an egotistic man by his writing alone—emphasizing brave actions, witty remarks, etc—but that was stretching far beyond the limits of reason. Coating every single wall was him smiling his sickenly bright smile, bleached white teeth and all. Not only that, but most of the pictures had him in lilac and carnation_ pink_. Now, not to say that Artemis was a fashion-demon (Which he certainly wasn't), but men simply weren't meant to where pink and purple, especially when trying to look brave. 

He gave the nearest of the photographs a quietly murmured spell that would turn brilliant white teeth brown, and again selected a chair next to Hermione at the front of the room. Much to his disgust, he saw her staring at one of the photographs with a dreamy smile on her face which, of course, did not match the object of her affection's. He had thought she had more sense then that. 

This time, once he had sat down and placed his books on the table Hermione only sent him a dark glare, and continued to stare at the grinning photograph with a fanatic's fervor.

_Moron__._ He thought sullenly, and found himself wishing that she would stop staring at the photograph. He knew she was smart—after all, it took someone of considerable intellect to beat Artemis Fowl in any was—and he had never truly met his match before. The closest thing that had come to it was that glorious on-line chess tournament with that grandmaster, but even that had been easy. It could have been a debate over anything, only of it involved two geniuses instead of the one he was used to.

_No._ he chided himself. _Why would I want to_ talk _to someone? I've gotten along fine without it until now._ Even so, he found himself struck with the sudden impulse to blast all of the Lockhart-simulacrums in the world and talk to her. He had never before wanted to socialize with someone before, not even with Butler, who was the closest thing he had—would ever have—to a father. This was something strange to Artemis, and left him shaken to the core.

Finally, he gave in to it, and tapped Hermione hesitantly on the shoulder with an elegant finger.

"Yes?" she asked dreamily, her eyes still fixed on the photograph. 

_This isn't working…_ he told himself, and smirked when he came up with a brilliant scheme. One of his best.

Muttering the complex charm under his breath and waving his wand in subtle gestures he wove the spell of Seeming. 

The spell of Seeming was one of the more complicated ones, although it was really little more then an illusion that could only be seen by the maker and a few selected people. In this case, he chose to make Lockhart materialize before the goo-goo-eyed Hermione, although he had to force himself to make the horrible smile. A few seconds later, he sat back, satisfied. 

The simulacrum-Lockhart smiled brilliantly at Hermione, and she reverted her awed gaze to his illusion. Before her eyes Lockhart's smile faded away, replaced by the same brown-toothed leer worn by one of the portraits. His robe became black with a faint pink stain showing on his hem, and the hair darkened into greasy dreadlocks. A sallowness came to his skin as he became Severus Snape, and Hermione's expression became one of the utmost horror.

"EEW!" she shrieked, and squeezed her eyes shut as she realized exactly what she had been staring at with that fawning look. Unfortunately for her, Lockhart chose that moment to appear, and nearly leapt out of his periwinkle robes when he heard the ear-splitting shriek. Good thing he didn't.

Hermione clapped her mouth shut, but the damage had been done: dear Gilderoy found himself staring at the horrified Hermione with shock on his face.

"Excuse me?" the professor asked, smoothing back his slightly ruffled blond hair. 

Hermione's face turned the shade of a ripened tomato, and any who knew of Commander Root's legendary coloring would have sworn they were somehow related. "Sorry sir." She muttered, and looked down, ashamed, at her lap. "I thought you were Professor Snape."

The class roared with laughter besides Artemis and the pair in question, making Hermione's blush deepened. Lockhart's jovial expression became one of mild amusement, obviously not getting the incredible insult. "Well, Miss Granger, you may want to make sure you didn't eat of the hallucinogenic mushrooms I fed to Natasha Blackwing in _Voyages with Vampires_. Why, that must have been…"

Artemis ceased to pay attention after that, his view of Lockhart only confirmed by his endless chatter. The women of the classroom, much to his greatly multiplying disgust, listened to his every brain-frying word with rapt attention that may have been better directed at the small black speck on the wall. 

Except for Hermione. She appeared to be broken from his spell for the moment, and she leaned over towards Artemis. "That wasn't a very nice trick, Fowl."

Artemis allowed him the luxury of a smile. Was this true conversation at last? "Artemis, if you please. And I trust you know the spell?"

"Yes." She said absently, trying to look over his shoulder to see the content of his bookbag. "The spell of Seeming. Very advanced magic."

His eyebrow raised fractionally. It was a hard spell to identify, even by those that witnessed it firsthand. "Impressive." He said, and used the _Alohomora_ spell to push his bookbag towards Hermione.

She reached into it eagerly, although she made sure to disguise her actions from the still blabbering Lockhart. Her eyes widened when she saw _The Calling_, and he silently cursed himself for bringing it along. Fellow genius or no, he could not have many people suspecting him of his plan. One of his plans.

"This sort of book isn't allowed here." She whispered furiously to him, pushing the bookbag back towards Artemis as if it were poison. "It shouldn't be allowed anywhere."

His small smile faded as he stared at her furious brown eyes. "Yes, it should." He whispered right back, and slipped the small green book into his bag. "You have no idea of what it can do."

She shook her head and opened her mouth to respond, but cut herself off as Lockhart abruptly stopped his endless line of chatter. "Anyways, enough about _that_ venture. Now on to me." He walked across the classroom in two melodramatic steps and picked up a plump little boy's copy of _Travels with Trolls_ and held it up so the entire classroom had to suffer through the portrait's insufferable winking.

"Me." He said, pointing to it and winking at the classroom as well. Whether it was on purpose or on accident that he was more-or-less synchronized with several of his portraits could not be said. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly_'s Most-Charming-Smile-Award—but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling _at her." Artemis somehow doubted that.

He paused for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly, all strangely female.

"I see that you've all bought a complete set of my books—well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about, just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in…" he trailed off, not knowing what to say. He filled in the gap with another disgusting smile, causing several of the girls to sigh audibly. Artemis was sorely tempted to pull another spell of Seeming on them, but decided it would be too much work.

He passed out the tests without another word, pausing only when Artemis gave him his best vampire-smile. After looking sufficiently cowed, Lockhart turned away and passed out tests to considerably more receiving girls that had sat near the front. 

Artemis looked down at the test, bringing out his simple gull-feather pen—he didn't want the obscenely long and fluffy ends of most to get in the way of concentration—and wrinkled his nose in disgust. You really couldn't blame the poor boy:

_1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart;s favorite color?_

_2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

_4. What did Gilderoy Lockhart say to Natasha Blackwing?_

And on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?___

At this point Artemis got a very, very good idea. No one would suspect him, and it would be the perfect way of getting revenge against the egotistic teacher. Trying to look as if he was thinking about the first question—if he actually did, it would undoubtedly kill a few brain cells—he passed his wand over the test and whispered, "_Duosa_." 

Slowly, a duplicate of the parchment materialized in the air above the real test, and fell gently on top. With a faint frown of concentration, Artemis got to work.

~~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A half hour later, Lockhart called an end to the quiz period, collecting the tests without even noticing that Artemis handed in two instead of one. Of course, with the many papers the test took up, it was hard to differentiate. 

He walked to the head of the classroom, backed by a dozen of his grinning simulacrums, and ruffled through the papers. "Tut, tut." He said, frowning slightly. "Hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ a little more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey."

He gave them a large roguish wink, and bent his head to check through several more papers. Artemis leaned over to remark upon this to Hermione, only to find that she was back under his spell. _Strange_ he thought, and returned to listening to the Professor, waiting for his paper to be mentioned.

"…but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care products—good girl! In fact—" He flipped her paper over—"full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand, looking down so the spreading blush wouldn't be as noticeable.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points to Gryffindor!" 

Hermione's blush deepened, making Artemis briefly wonder why girls blushed so much.

"And what's this?" Lockhart asked, wiping all other thoughts out in his anticipation. "Someone said my favorite color was hot-pink?" 

There was a long pause in which a few people from the back chuckled—Harry Potter and his pet Weasely, by the sound of it. 

"And that my secret ambition was to 'Make all suffer beneath the face of his smile'? And that my greatest achievement was 'enchanting all the girls so they fell over in their helpless groveling'? I'll have you know that I work very hard to keep myself beautiful, and my smile is the result of hard work!" 

Everyone was laughing by now, and Artemis joined in just to erase himself as a suspect. Keep reading, keep reading…

"And that my statement to Natasha Blackwing was 'Keep on swimming, keep on swimming 'ol girl; Dracula ain't coming to town'? What is meaning of this? Who wrote this?" The paper shuffled as he looked for a name, and he got one:

"Made by Severus Snape?" Lockhart asked angrily—although he did not look the least bit frightening. "Well, I'll—" Whatever he said after this was lost to the roaring laughter, and Artemis smiled in satisfaction. Perfect; the idiot has been riled. With the git's pride hurt, he would do many things that would distract the teachers—and in turn provide time for Artemis to play out his growing idea. 

Hermione leaned over, smiling slightly despite the faint glaze-ness to her eyes. "Was that you?" she asked, her voice barely heard over Lockhart's attempts to quiet the tumultuous classroom. 

"Did you not hear him?" Artemis asked, a similar smile curving his lips. "It was Severus Snape, whom had just appeared in this very room."

Hermione's smile broadened, but then froze when she realized that, against all odds, Lockhart had gotten the classroom in some assemblage of order. Sort-of. 

"Now—" the Professor shouted, quieting the class down a few more decibels. "My job here is to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I can ask is that you remain calm."

By now the entire class was silent in anticipation, although the plump boy Artemis had noticed earlier was cowering in his front view seat, being right before the cage Lockhart was presumably about to open. The remaining two hacklers had quieted by now, probably Dean and Seamus from what he had been able to overhear.

"I must ask you not to scream." Lockhart said in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

The entire class drew in a collective breath, including Artemis. What sort of teacher was he, to bring in dangerous creatures to a group of inexperienced, stumbling buffoons? 

"Yes." Lockhart said dramatically, whipping off the cover of the cage, causing several people reached for their wands out of fear… "Freshly caught Cornish pixies." …and they let go of them again.

The two boys in the back near Harry and Ronald could not contain their laughter, which even Lockhart could not mistake for a scream of terror. 

"Yes?" Lockhart asked, watching the cage warily out of the corner of his eye. 

One of them, Seamus, laughed again. "Well, they're not—they're not—they're not _dangerous_, are they?" 

"Don't be so sure!" Lockhart said warningly, his tone unbelievably serious as he waggled his finger annoyingly at the entire class. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be."

The pixies were an electric blue that took the notion right out of Artemis' head that they were in any way related to the Fairy People—although _The Calling_ would later address those issues, at least according to the table of content. About eight inches high with extremely angular faces, they did not even _sound_ like Holly or the Commander with their shrill voices and annoying buzzing from their wings—although they argued about as much as them. The moment the cover had been removed they had started to buzz like supersonic hornets, rocking the cage violently. Several of them decided to pull faces at the people in the front row; Artemis pulled a derisive sneer towards the cage, and most of them stopped.

"Right then." Lockhart said loudly, inching away from the cage. "Let's see what you make of them…" And he opened the cage with the tip of his wand, and dived towards the protection of his expansive desk. 

Frankly, Artemis couldn't blame him; the small bolts of blue lightening instantly made their way across the room, ganging up in pairs or threesomes to defend themselves against the surprised students. Their quick slanted green eyes found every object worthy of being ripped and torn, from black school robes to Lockhart's grinning photographs—much to Artemis' relief.

Although Artemis had quickly begun a flurry of hexes to disable as many of the surrounding pixies as he could, none came within a three foot radius around him, despite the abundance of books both he and the hexing Hermione had brought. He mentally filed this away for later investigation, and turned his full concentration at the matter at hand. To say the least, the pixies were not happy.

With both Artemis and Hermione taking care of the front of the room with their rapid spells and wards, Harry and Ron had a hard time defending the back by themselves. Not nearly as proficient as the other pair, many of the surrounding people were victimized by the chattering demons. Two of them seized Neville Longbottom by the ears and hung him on the same dragon skeleton Artemis had scrutinized earlier. Several of them shot straight through the back window towards freedom and the Forbidden Forest, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest were having the time of their lives, and their incredible ability to create pandemonium would have shamed a rampaging rhinoceros. 

"Come one now, round them up, round them up!" Lockhart called from under his desk, one end of his wand poking out from his shelter. One of the pixies took advantage of this and clung to the end, biting sharp little teeth into it. "They're only pixies." His last words came out as a strangled grasp as the pixie let go and but into his little finger.

No one was listening besides the coldly calculating Artemis, who was beginning to admit pixies were harder to control then he had previously thought. This would have to be reconsidered while reading in _The Calling_…

Lockhart, for some strange reason deciding that it was wise to stand up from under his desk and face off the pixies, rolled up his sleeves and bellowed, "_Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!" The lone pixie was still stubbornly clinging to his finger, which was bleeding badly. Artemis hoped it would scar. 

It had absolutely no effect, to no one's surprise; the pixie that was giving the Professor the nibble snatched his wand again by the teeth and flew off with it out the broken window. Neville fell to the ground as one of the pixies undid the clasp that held his cloak together, nearly landing on Lockhart. His black robes fell after him, covering Lockhart and tangling him up as pixies narrowed in on his position and bit deep into the wool.

The bell rang, and there was a mad rush towards the door to escape the vengeful pixies. Lockhart flung the black cape away from him, luckily landing just so his attackers were buried beneath the suffocating robes. Catching sight of the remaining four—Artemis, Hermione, Harry and Ron—he said quickly, "Well, I'll just ask you four to take care of the—" He cut himself off when a few more pixies came after him, and he sprinted into his office and slammed the door behind him. 

"Can you believe him?!" the red-head yelped as one of the pixies bit him in the ear. Artemis noted coldly that his wand was broken—he would do well to stay away from it. 

Hermione, still besides Artemis expertly freezing and flinging the pixies back into their cage by her wand, shook her head. "He just wants to give us some hands-on experience." she argued, and edged closer to Harry and Ron. 

Artemis remained silent, although a quick glance towards Hermione showed that even she was a bit doubtful now. 

"Hands-on?" Harry asked, lunging for a pixie that had decided to pull obscene faces at him. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue of what he was doing!"

"Rubbish." Hermione shot back, stuffing the last of the pixies away with a quick _alohamora_ spell. The locked clicked shut, and she turned to the three panting boys in front of her. "You've all read his books. Look at all the amazing things he's done—"

"He says he's done." Ron muttered darkly, throwing Artemis a suspicious glare. "And what are you doing here?"

"You're welcome." Artemis replied coolly, brushing back his only slightly mussed hair from his brow. He hadn't even broken into a sweat.

Harry glanced at Ron, who kept a firm hold on his broken wand, and turned towards Hermione. "You know him?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards Artemis.

"Yes." Hermione said simply. "And I trust him." With that, she flounced out of the room, grabbing Neville's lost cloak as she went out the broken door, followed closely by Ron and Harry.

Artemis smiled as he bent down and picked up the lone piece of paper on the floor. The grin broadened as he realized who the owner was, and what delightful blackmail possibilities could result. 

That smile stayed firmly fixed as he carefully stacked his remaining books into his bag, and folded the paper so no one would be able to see who was featured so prominently in it.

The only thing that could be seen of it was the brilliant smile that flashed upon it as Artemis walked down the hallway towards Herbology, trying to enchant a few more victims to add to his  ever-growing fan-club.

~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  


Plenty of book-verse, I know. But you simply cannot beat Rowling for coming up with stupid lines like Lockhart's.  

The 'incident' shall have to wait. I put in most of the back-ground for it, and it should occur next chapter. Oh boy, you're going to loooooooooove it! *shrinks from disapproving looks* I just had to make a movie for Science class in which I played someone very similar to Mary-Sue in this story…except her face _is_ pink, her eyes are blue, she has nasty pink pigtails that her mother called 'adorable', wore pink-and-black robes, and several other disturbingly girlish items. My perfectly normal nails were painted hot-pink, I had to talk like a moron…. It was HORRIBLE! Anyways, I think it's been rubbing off on me…

If I sound like this in my A/Ns next chapter, kill me swiftly before it spreads. 

Namárië,

*`~Nallasariel the Weeper


	14. No Title::

Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm proud to say. Who would want to try and deal with all these illegal stories running about?

A/N: Anyways, a few questions were raised last chapter. Including one about Hermione's trust in Artemis. That is dealt with this and next chapter cackles evilly The entire _idea_ of what he pulls on her is based on the Language Arts class, and could not have been possible if not for the stupidity of Sun Yang and Mr. Vanderslice (And Mr. Lubbers, to a lesser extent. He had some awesome parts as well). Muhahaha.

Sorry about not having a title. I hate naming things, and chapter titles are the worst. If you have something good, please tell me.

Chapter Thirteen: {No title}

* * *

His next hour, Herbology, could not have been worse unless Gilderoy Lockhart himself had taught it.

It wasn't the teacher's fault entirely; in fact, he though Mrs. Sprout was a very good teacher for one with red hair. However, Hogwarts did not favor Artemis Fowl when it placed him between Draco Malfoy and the gibbering card players in the back row right in front of a plant that kept sneaking its spikes vines over his shoulder. He was not pleased with the sap that dripped onto his meticulously clean black robes, nor when both Draco Malfoy and 'Chance' had the nerve to laugh at his appearance. Both, although they would not know it for several hours, had a curse placed upon them that would render their clothes unable to come off.

He was getting quite a taste for revenge, wasn't he? That would be only the beginning. Not that he knew it yet.

Many others filtered into the greenhouse, seating themselves as far away from the dangerous-looking plants that surrounded the seats and from Crabbe and Goyle, one of which (Artemis couldn't tell the difference—they were both stupid as far as he was concerned) seemed angry that he was unable to sit next to his master Malfoy.

He cracked his knuckles audibly, making sure that Artemis heard by accompanying it with a pig-like grunt.

Artemis glanced up at whatever it was that was blocking his light, and looked right back down again, disguising the reach for his wand as a scrabble for a quill. Trouble was brewing.

The… thing… cracked his knuckles again, and Artemis was poked in the ribcage on his right side. Draco's side.

"Yes?" he asked coolly, setting _The Calling_ carefully into his book-bag. Wouldn't want to get his next scheme dirty.

_It_ grumbled something, which Artemis doubted even the People's gift of tongues would have been able to translate.

"I'm afraid you'll have to speak a bit more clearly." Artemis stated, and he slipped his wand from the bag inconspicuously.

Draco took up the fight. "He wants to you move so he can sit by me."

Artemis' eyebrow arched. "I am not at your beck and call, nor shall I ever be. If you wish to be seated near each other, I recommend the seat by those lovely _hyster_ in the front." He indicated with an elegant finger towards a large purple-and-black spined monstrosity that was looking hungrily at the classroom with what appeared to be an eye.

Although Artemis had truly wished that Draco would be stupid enough to take his advice, fate was not kind to those that played with it instead of the other way around. "I would rather that you move, _Fowl_, or I'm afraid that Crabbe—" He jutted his thumb towards the boy looming over Artemis, "and Goyle here—" The sitting boy grunted, "—will have to have a few words with you after class."

Artemis did not even hesitate at the blatant threat. "I doubt they could even speak legibly, Malfoy, and I have far better things to do then debate the finer points of philosophy with the pair. The seats are still open, however."

Malfoy scowled, and raised his own wand. "I'm warning you…"

Fortunately for Draco's sake, Mrs. Sprout had just been relived of Lockhart's attentions and strode into the classroom. Her frizzy red hair, having clearly not been combed, had been placed in a lackadaisical bun that reminded Artemis of how his mother put up her hair. Forest-green robes that contrasted sharply with her hair (Lockhart must have exchanged a few words on that a few minutes ago) swished about her faintly plump figure, and her callused hands just pocked out from the hem of her practical robes, erasing all doubts as how she taught.

Hands-on.

Artemis groaned, only stifling it for the sake of his reputation. He had bought gloves in case the class outline made true on its threat, but had not brought them in the assumption that the first class would at least be some type of note-taking. Not grubbing around in the dirt like some tree-hugging lunatic…

So absorbed was Artemis in his wallowing in self-pity, that he didn't even notice as the classroom hushed around him and Sprout took up a position in front of his desk. It was not until he felt the all-too-familiar feel of eyes staring at him that he looked up. "Yes?" he asked, folding his hands on his lap.

"Did you not hear the question?" Sprout asked, anger rising in her voice. "Or were you simply too busy talking?"

If Artemis did not have the perfect emotional control he so cherished, he would have smiled. "No, _madame_, it is simply Draco here was so busy prattling about himself I could not hear your question."

Sprout, despite her anger, cracked a slight smile along with the rest of the class. "Really. Ten points from Slytherin, and, Mister Fowl, the question was what the properties of a Mandrake are."

Self-consciously brushing back his hair, Artemis began. "The Mandragora is commonly used as a restorative to revive those cursed back into their original state. However, Salazar Slytherin discovered that, when used in adjunct with unicorn bl—"

"That's quite enough." Sprout snapped, throwing him the _I__'ll-talk-to-you-after-class_ look. "Now, these Mandrakes here—" She waved one hand towards several trays. Try as he might, Artemis could not see over Chance's curly blonde head as to what they were. However, he had easily figured out by now that they were potting Mandrakes. "—shall be all potted by the end of the hour." She glared around at the general room, although Artemis could plainly see it was directed at those who decided to take a nap. "If need be, you shall stay after to finish up. Understand?"

The class nodded, and Sprout continued. "Mister Fowl failed to mention that Mandrake's scream is fatal. You'll need earmuffs, unless you would _prefer_ to be dead."

There was an instant rush towards the earmuff tub in which Artemis was beaten severely by several girls. He aimed for the plainest one he saw (A black that strongly reminded him of the cat he was neglecting). He got the feathered orange one. However, it was better then the fuzzy pink one Sprout got stuck with, or the puke-green one Draco was unfortunate enough to snag.

"When I tell you to put these on," Sprout continued, "make sure _they completely cover your ears._ I simply cannot stress that enough. We have only had one death these last one-hundred years, and I certainly don't want the next to be in my class. However, since they are but seedlings, their cries won't kill yet."

Half the class breathed out a sigh of relief, including, Artemis noted, Draco Malfoy.

Sprout continued. "They will still knock you out for several hours, an since there is still several classes to go make sure they are completely secure. I will attract your attention when it is time to pick up."

"Four to a tray—there is a supply of pots by the Mandrakes—and Mister Adams, stop teasing the Venemous Tentacula unless you have the mind to be fed to it."

Spader pulled his hand away from it quickly, looking at the oozing red sap covering his hand suspiciously. A few of the Slytherins laughed at him, but the majority of the class had gathered around various trays along the side of the room. Artemis went for one of his own. Malfoy joined him.

Sprout assumed her position at the front of the classroom again, giving out more directions. "When I tell you to put them on," She indicated her pink and fluffy earmuffs, "make sure your ears are _completely covered_. When it is safe to remove them, I shall give you a thumbs-up. Now, put them on."

Everyone did, most of them double-checking their own handiwork. None thought missing lunch was a good idea.

Artemis, however, grimaced openly when he placed the orange abomination on his head, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Draco doing it as well. Their eyes met briefly, and turned away to look at Sprout again.

She had moved towards the table shared by the red-head and three Slytherin girls, waiting patiently for everyone to be looking at her. Apparently deciding that Spader and Chance were close enough to looking at her in ogling the girls, she gestured for them to watch carefully. Rolling up the ends of her voluminous green robes, she grasped one of the leave-tufts poking out from the tray and, bracing herself against the table, yanked.

As Artemis expected, the muddy 'body' of the Mandrake popped out, skin the shade of Draco's earmuffs mottled with bits of mud. His mouth was wide open, clearly bawling loudly enough to shame a stock broker during the Depression.

At his side, Draco stiffened, eyes taking on a slightly glazed look. Apparently, his lovely earmuffs weren't good enough to block all sound.

Smiling slightly, he continued to watch as Sprout plunged the Mandrake into the terra cotta pot offered by the red-head, burying it in the again offered compost until only the twitching leaves were visible. She dusted her thoroughly grimy hands—What Artemis' hands were about to look like—and gave them a thumbs up.

Artemis was one of the first to get his off, just in time to hear the sigh of relief from the students. Chancing a sidelong look, Artemis saw that Draco was still slightly blank-of-face. Perhaps there wouldn't be as much trouble as he had foreseen from him.

Or not; Crabbe and Goyle were still in full control of their somewhat diminished wits, and they had heard Draco's thinly veiled threats. Even if Draco was slightly out, he would have the trouble he had so wished to evade.

Artemis slipped his orange earmuffs back on shortly, looking mournfully at his hands. As much as he loved being clean, if he wanted to put that Granger girl back in her place he would have to get his hands dirty and get an A. An A, that is.

Shutting his eyes tightly, he picked his hands up, and plunged them into the tray before him. Eyes still shut, he groped through the soil and, gripping the base of the stalk, pulled.

The nasty, squirming thing before him was vicious, reaching up with root-like hands to tear at his white skin. It took several minutes of helpless pushing, pulling and yanking to have it all the way in his pot, but the problem of keeping it within his pot remained.

Much to his annoyance, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have been able to stuff theirs into the pot with a mixture of brute force and plant-torture, and they even reached across the table and helped Malfoy (Whose condition deteriorated as the hour passed by). They may have been little smarter then chimpanzees, but they were every bit as loyal as them as well.

All in all, that was without a doubt the worst hour of his life. It had not been so bad with the Holly incident; at least there his mind was challenged. This, however, had no thinking at all—just the steady rhythm of a fight; get hands dirty, get bitten (Or, optional, _don't_ get bitten), get it in pot, let it escape once or twice…

His only consolation was the little plot he had cooking up in his head for lunch. Knowing Hermione, she would undoubtedly notice when a piece of her property went missing. And who would she ask first, of all the people that had sat near her?

Schemes were such a lovely thing. He really should make more of them.

It was this thought alone that bore him through class and kept the vaguely far-off smile on his face. Even when Sprout took him aside after class to talk about the importance of 'some knowledge that is best left forgotten', he let the words flow over him, registering in that distant part of his mind that would be sorted when peace came.

If peace came.

* * *

Ha. Ha. Ha. I feel very sarcastic today, so please excuse me. I shall edit everything I have so far soon, with input from friends at school, and post the fixed versions.

Posts shall be a bit more frequent until the 30th of June, after which I shall be gone until school starts.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper

P.S. The next chapter is going to be loooooong.


	15. Blackmail and Beans

Disclaimer: I'm sick of writing these. Leave me alone.

A/N: I know I've been promising this for a while, but it's finally going to happen. Muhahaha.

Chapter Fourteen: Blackmail and Beans

* * *

It only took Artemis a few minutes to get to the Great Hall for lunch, and as he walked along he formulated his plan.

He knew he probably shouldn't do it; Hermione was the closest thing he'd likely have for a friend here, and he was looking forward to intelligent conversation for once. If he did this, he wasn't sure that he would ever be forgiven.

On the other hand…

He smiled as a new idea came into his head, although it disappeared quickly at the growling of his stomach. Perhaps he could get away without any of the blame, and place it upon one who displeased him immensely.

Before him was the many selections that represented lunch, although with the _venemost_ spell he could see that his plate was poisoned. There was no spell he knew of that would get rid of that sort of poison, and whenever the food came in contact with even the area around the plate, bowl and goblet it simply became inedible.

_Whoever made this poison,_ Artemis decided, _did not think things through._ Although the poison itself was artificial and was obviously made by someone who knew what they were doing, the would-be assassin left many loopholes. The poison, itself a hybrid between spells and potions, was designed to be undetectable for most spells and only affected objects that were not alive. Had it been slightly adjusted, it could have affected not only the food but Artemis himself. A frightening thought.

With such thoughts of self-protection in mind, Artemis decided that the lunch hour would be better spent writing the essay assigned for Potions. After all, evenings were for reading _The Calling_ or figuring out how to fix his Fairy laptop.

It did not take long for neighboring students to question his motives; Chance poked him annoyingly in the shoulder with his wand. After erasing the ink-streak this caused from his half-finished essay, Artemis asked, "Yes?"

Chance grinned, red-gold curls flopping across his face. "Wanna play Hearts? We need another player." Jack and Spader on the other side of the table nodded emphatically.

"You didn't seem to mind playing with three earlier." Artemis pointed out, returning to his essay.

Out of the corner of his eye Artemis could see Chance shrug carelessly. "It's better with four, and the stupid Second Years don't want to play Yukor. Come on, everyone's saying you're a genius. Prove it."

Artemis said nothing, only adding an exceptionally outrageous flourish to his otherwise spider-like writing. As his teachers at St. Bartleby's would later discover, this meant he was annoyed.

"He's no smarty." Jack pouted, shuffling the deck. "He's just scared of losing!"

Spader nodded, ridiculous black curls tossing in the air. One of Cho's followers looked about ready to swoon. "And I wanted some _real_ competition."

This made Artemis look up from spell-checking his parchment, blue eyes glinting with amusement. "You think you can beat me."

Spader nodded, dark brown eyes gleaming with anticipation of his own. "Easily."

Artemis slipped his parchment into his practical black book-bag and scooted slightly closer to Chance. "Which game?" he inquired, folding his hands on his lap. "Hearts?"

Jack nodded sourly. "Yes. But I can beat _anyone_ in Yukor. Stupid Spader likes his precious Hearts, but I can beat him at Yukor any day. Hearts is all luck."

"Is not!" Spader protested, elbowing Jack painfully in the ribs. "Hearts takes _way_ more strategy!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

Jack began dealing out the cards, silencing everyone instantly as they inspected their hands. Artemis' wasn't bad, assuring the genius of his victory. A matter of fact, he would have won had Hermione not chosen that moment to appear behind him before he was ready.

"Fowl?!" Hermione demanded, crossing her arms. "Have you seen my copy of _Magical Me_?" Apparently, the picture he had found came from one of the many pages dedicated to such things.

Artemis shook his head. "No, _mademoiselle_. I would check your book-bag again."

Hermione peered suspiciously at him. "Are you positive you didn't see it during Lockhart's class?"

"I promised nothing." Artemis responded evasively, returning to organizing his hand.

Muttering about the idiocy of rich snobs, Hermione flounced off to question some other Ravenclaws that had sat near her.

Chance leaned over. "Are you sure you want to play this?" He waggled his thick eyebrows in a way that he apparently thought was suggestive.

"I do not know what you are talking about." Artemis responded coolly, studying his cards.

Spader grinned, reaching across the table to nudge him in the ribs. "We play cards all the time. We know a lie when we see one. Now, what were you planning with Granger's book?"

Artemis eyed him speculatively. They weren't quite as stupid as he had thought. "What does it matter to you?"

They all leaned in until Artemis could feel their hot breaths. They weren't terribly hygienic either.

"Plenty." Jack said, trying to see Artemis' cards as he leaned forward. Artemis, ever-mindful of the backless benches and what occurred last time, scooted away from Chance. "She's smart, arrogant and Potter's friend. We'd all love to see what you have planned."

"If I tell you, will you back off?"

Chance and Spader nodded, although Jack gave one last regretful look at Artemis' hidden hand before doing so as well.

As much as Artemis disliked giving away his schemes, he could not do this without having three obnoxious boys hanging over him. Without a word he drew the paper he had prepared from his book bag, and, folding it so the 'r**E**eD I_F_ u w**A**nT u_R_ Pi**C**tuR _b_Ak' was clearly visible, placed a simple _alohamora_ charm on it that would send it soaring towards Hermione's seat at the Gryffindor table.

All three of the card players grinned. "Blackmail."

Artemis nodded, returning to his hand. "Yes, to put it bluntly."

"But what did you demand?" Chance asked, eyeing Artemis with growing admiration—and fear.

Artemis shrugged. "Bernie Bott's Ever Flavor Beans. And Jack, it's pass to the left, not across, s please refrain from leaning over so far."

Jack drew back, covering up his poorly-executed attempt to peak at Artemis' cards with a face of astonishment. "Beans?! Why not something cool, like Galleons or a kiss?"

Artemis shook his head. "I have no need for some petty girl's gold, nor for anyone's embraces. Beans shall suffice for now." _But you want gold._ He reminded himself. _It doesn't matter to the great Artemis Fowl where it comes from._

He brushed these thoughts away when he caught Hermione looking at him furiously from the Gryffindor table, crumpled note in hand. Painting a confused expression on his face, he shot her a look he figured to be bewildered.

Chance slid the three of his cards over, prompting Artemis to give Spader the three cards he had decided on giving up. "But _beans_?!"

Artemis sorted the new arrivals into his hand. "I have a certain fondness for them," he said, trying to sound as ashamed as he could, "and a certain lack."

Jack shrugged, laying down the two of clubs to start the game. "I guess it's a matter of taste then."

Artemis made no response, instead eyeing the angry young witch approaching from Gryffindor as he laid down an ace. Her opinion of Artemis seemed to have lessened since backing him up in DADA class.

"What is the meaning of that note?!" Hermione snapped as she stalked in between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, attracting many curious gazes. "I know you're a vile little criminal by nature, but really, isn't this a bit far? That is my book you stole, _my_ book!"

Artemis smirked. "It wasn't me, _mademoiselle_, nor do I wish to be in possession of yet another of Lockhart's thoughtless creations. What proof do you have that I did it, in any case?"

Hermione blushed. "None, but—but you're the one who sat next to me when it disappeared!"

"I assure you that I am not the perpetrator in this, Miss Granger. My friends here," he waved a careless hand towards the card players, "shall back me up in this."

Chance smiled at Hermione in a flirtatious fashion. "Innocent until proven guilty."

The other boys nodded, the very essence of offended innocence. They truly were excellent actors, albeit ones that didn't seem to convince Hermione the slightest.

Hermione drew away, eyeing the boys with obvious distaste. "I realize that, but…" She sighed in defeat. "Fine. But mark my words, if it was you that stole my book…" She trailed off, and stalked off back towards the Gryffindor table, looking thoroughly annoyed.

Once she was out of hearing range Chance grinned. "I never knew geniuses were so thick." He glanced at Artemis. "No offense."

"None taken." Artemis responded evenly, picking up his won hand from the table and setting it besides his book-bag. Lockhart's photograph tried to get a better look at the cards, and somehow managed to break the Silencing Charm to annoy Artemis with various playing tips (All rather stupid).

Jack smiled as well, placing the queen of spades on Artemis' three of diamonds. "Where does she have to drop them beans off?"

Artemis shrugged. "I told her to fly it up towards the ceiling, where I shall later bring them down from."

Spader narrowed his exotic eyes in speculation. He seemed Arabic in blood almost. "Wouldn't she be watching those beans to see who brings them down? She isn't _that_ stupid." Chance snickered in agreement.

_Clever clever._ Artemis thought. _They aren't as thick as they appear. Not the least._

"I shall handle it." he said after several long moments, playing the queen of spades on Spader's ace of diamonds. Spader did not look pleased by that turn of events. "After all, I _am_ a genius."

Spader scowled at Artemis, scooping up the hand and the thirteen points that came along with it. "Shut up while you're still ahead, since your girlfriend's coming over again."

Artemis bit back a threatening retort—that was a _very_ low blow—and turned to face Hermione.

Spader burst into bitter laughter when he saw Artemis had fallen for his bluff, earning an annoyed glare from everyone present. Artemis had made his second official enemy here at Hogwarts.

Jack bit voraciously into a ham-hock, and displayed the half-chewed contents as he interrupted the sudden silence. "Vour tur', Arthemiz."

Artemis played a heart, and glanced over Spader's still-laughing form. Hermione, barely visible over Hufflepuff's table and thinning occupants, was in the process of levitating a box of Bernie Bott's Ever Flavor Beans. Weasley at her side did not look please; perhaps the Beans were once his?

_Mine now._ Artemis thought dully, slipping out his wand as he carelessly gave Chance another point.

An idea struck him, and he fumbled with the lower half of his Potions essay for several moments before ripping it up in a show of violence. Lockhart's photograph looked genuinely scared and ducked behind a convenient chair in the picture.

"Whatcha doing?" Chance asked, picking up his won hand as he watched Artemis proceed to write a new letter on the ripped parchment.

Artemis made no response, instead folding this note similarly to the last and sending it soaring in an erratic path towards Hermione, who was watching the floating Beans like a hawk. The parchment, as soon as it floated in front of Hermione's face, distracted her long enough for Artemis to snag the Beans with a charm and bring it down to the table. Hermione looked positively furious at herself for not seeing who had taken the Beans, and the range of suspects was getting larger as more and more people began noticing the chocolate frogs she sent upwards as well (Taken, Artemis assumed, from her own personal snack-hoard for the day).

Chance leaned over, looking at the Beans with growing admiration. "She actually gave you them for a stupid book?"

"What did that note say?" Spader asked sourly, still annoyed about losing that round to Artemis. "Wanted to take a little moonlit walk with her by the lake or something?"

Artemis' eyebrows arced in surprise. Spader was certainly one to hold a grudged. "Hardly. I was requesting three chocolate frogs."

"Quite the sweet tooth, eh Arty?" Chance teased, nudging him again in the ribs. A bruise was surely developing there.

"Goodness knows he needs it." Jack cut in dryly, picking up the last hand. Everyone but Artemis began tallying their scores.

Spader grinned, writing _thirteen_ under 'S' on the score sheet. "Lit'l scrawny Artykins, trying to gain weight? Pity; he'll lose that _lovely_ anorexic figure."

Artemis was sorely tempted to place a hex on him, preferably one that would involve a Pinocchio-affect. "Don't call me that." he said quietly, his voice soft with malice.

Spader, however deep his grudge, was not stupid. He backed off, placing a sloppy _zero_ under 'A'. Within a few moments everyone else's scores were tallied up; Chance with one, Jack with twelve.

Sweet as one-round's victory was, Artemis looked up towards the ceiling. The chocolate frogs were just waiting for him. So was half-a-House of people, all watching the chocolate frogs speculatively. They may not have known its purpose by the ceiling, but they were certainly interest in it.

Chance echoed his own thoughts. "Howya going to get them down?"

Artemis placed one elegant finger to his lips. Now that this deal had been given so much attention, people would be listening. As inconspicuously as he could, he drew Lockhart's photograph from his bag and, after placing a timed silencing charm on it, he turned around and located Draco Malfoy at the table behind him. Muttering _alohamora_ under his breath, he directed the photo half-in and half-out of Malfoy's bag, located conveniently in the aisle between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

It only took two more rounds of Hearts for people to lose interest in the levitation chocolate frogs, although no one, surprisingly enough, tried to take them from mid-air. Hermione was not stupid enough to let something like her hoarding Lockhart photographs let out—she had a reputation to protect as well, albeit a very boring one—and she was too righteous to lie about something like that. It was perfectly possible that she had lost the entire copy of _Magical Me_, but Hermione would be a good deal more desperate to get a book back then just a simple photograph.

Smiling, Artemis thought back to Defense Against Dark Arts class. Come to think of it, she _had_ been short of one book. _Magical Me_. It must have been it.

However, Hermione would be suspicious of simply a photograph from it. He needed the entire book, and done in a suitably fangirl-ish fashion.

Grimacing, Artemis leaned over towards Chance. "Does your sister have any, ah, _liking_ for Lockhart?"

Chance looked at him quizzically. "Rachel? Er, I guess—Hey! How did you know she was my sister?" The other two card players looked at both Chance and Artemis in shock. Apparently, they had not been told either.

Artemis sighed. He hated having to explain what really was but simple logic. "You and the red-haired girl in our House look very alike, and both have blue eyes—something very uncommon amongst so-complexioned people, which I am, quite frankly, curious about—and you have similar voices. Not only that, but you embraced like siblings earlier, and it is my understanding that you both come from the Isle of Man." He paused. "Correct?"

"She's my step-sister, actually." Chance said, sounding dazed. "We wanted to keep it down so people wouldn't bug us 'bout Mum's… you know…" He trailed off helplessly, and smiled weakly at Jack and Spader, both stunned.

Artemis ignored the following exchange, mostly consisting of 'Dude! Why didn't you tell us about any of this before?!' and 'Can I go with your sister?', and other such sentiments. Most were shrugged aside.

Hermione had certainly stopped watching the chocolate frogs by now, only sparing glances at them every once in a while. As soon as she slipped her eyes from it again, Artemis quickly brought them down, making sure that anyone still watching would be adequately confused by the zigzag path they led through the Hall before slipping into his hands.

Artemis looked up from the happily croaking chocolate frogs to look at Hermione. She looked quite pleased, and was marching over to Ravenclaw table even as he looked.

He mentally cursed himself. She must have traced his spell somehow, or placed a line on it.

Thinking quickly, Artemis put yet another _alohamora_ spell on the chocolate frogs and slipped them into Draco's bag, next to the photograph. He kept the Beans.

Chance leaned over, dealing a new hand as he was at it. "I think the game's up, Artemis. Might as well eat the evidence."

Artemis shook his head. "No, it's not up yet."

Hermione turned the corner, following a seemingly invisible thread that stretched from the tip of her wand. Head bowed towards the ground, she did not notice who the 'culprit' of _Magical Me_ was until she looked up and saw the back of Malfoy's head.

Slytherin table suddenly turned silent when they caught sight of Hermione, as well a the Ravenclaws close enough to watch. This would be an excellent show.

"Where is it?" she asked icily, clutching her shaking wand.

Malfoy looked up from his seat at her, clearly confused. "What are you ta—"

The sound of a resounding slap echoed through the Hall, eliciting laughter from all.

"Give me back my book!" Hermione cried, stabbing her wand at Draco's forehead. "I know you have it!"

Malfoy shook his head numbly, gray eyes darting around for Crabbe and Goyle. Unfortunately for him, they had taken a bathroom break. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Had any of the teachers been present, they would have also stopped the flash of a Coloring Hex, and Hermione's thievery of both chocolate frogs and a peculiar piece of parchment. Strangely enough, it had Lockhart 's signature on the back, with a 'and Hermione 4 eva' beneath it, surrounded by many hearts.

Artemis turned to the card players, placing the two of clubs down. "Beans, anyone?" He held out the open box.

Grinning, all three of them reached into it, pushing at each other to have some first. Once they had all grabbed a fistful each, Artemis took the rest as a well-earned reward. After all, he had not yet had breakfast.

He choked as he ate the first one. Vomit.

* * *

Dang… That wasn't as good as I had originally hoped…

Oh well. I'll go through and edit it for you shortly. Completely edited versions of OMAM and the re-done versions of the first few chapters shall be available next week Wednesday, along with the next chapter.

I am working on a short story for Artemis Fowl, and I was wondering if anyone would like to help me with it. It's basically an exploration of Artemis' mind. Please, only those that have very analytical minds and a deep understanding as to _what_ Artemis truly is.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	16. Portrait Love

Disclaimer: Had I actually listened to my brother about my meaningless life, I would not claim this as I normally would as my creation. Waaaiiiiiiit… Did that just make me a hypocrite, or my brother a jerk?

A/N: Since Arty's first day is getting, well, a bit **long**, I'm quickening the pace. When I go back and re-write I'll probably mush a few of these chapters together, as well as add a few here and there. More on this later.

Chapter Fifteen: Portrait Love

* * *

Artemis, after ducking into the nearest bathroom to wash his mouth out, decided he would use the remaining five minutes of lunch to navigate his way to Professor McGonagall's classroom. However, it being not too far from the Great Hall, he found himself rather bored.

It was most likely the most interesting classroom in the school; it's walls were lined with either bookshelves or chalkboards, the later being covered with complex formulas. He spent a few moments pondering over their uses as he walked into the classroom, but, being the genius he was, found that they had already been explained in his _Book of Intermediate Spells_. Selecting his seat in the very front and pointedly drawing one chair out as an invitation, he settled down to wait.

McGonagall, perhaps coming from the Teacher's Lounge by her certain lack of involvement in the activities at lunch, came in just before student's lunch was dismissed. Her robes were again black, this time with the silvery Celtic knots on the first layer. She did not look terribly surprised to see Artemis there first, nor in the front. Without a word she took to her sizable desk tucked away in one corner.

Students began trickling in in twos and threes, most whitened by the thought of Transfiguration. It was rumored to be the hardest class of the year, and a close second to Potions for the homework load. McGonagall, according to that blonde barmaid in Hogsmeade, had failed her even though she was a perfectly good student, and a horror story told by Chance fervently swore she was a child-hater.

Artemis was looking forward to it.

It did not take long for Hermione and her two friends to come in, whispering between the three of them. Hermione pointedly ignored the pulled-put chair, and sat three seats across from him at one side of Potter. Clearly, she still suspected him.

His mouth quirked into a slight grin as he pulled out _The Calling_ and parchment. The female mind would ever be mystery.

Exactly on time McGonagall stood, eyeing the class distaste. "Today we shall be reviewing what has been lost over the summer." she said primly, folding her hands before her. "You are to transfigure these beetles," she waved toward one of the empty tables, where a tank filled with the squirming insects sat, "into buttons. You may begin."

The class was considerably less enthusiastic to get their beetles then their earmuffs before, which Artemis noted with relief. Being somewhat against touching insects, Artemis levitated his to his seat and stared at it for several minutes before easily transfiguring it to a shiny black button. More then a little bored, he went up to get another one.

The boredom was quickly alleviated, however, when the Weasely-boy filled the room with smoke when he tried to transfigure his beetle. Artemis muttered a quick cantrip to dispel the foul-smelling smog and watched the ensuing havoc with amusement.

Ronald, or 'Ron' as Potter continued to call him, was flailing about, barely seen through the rapidly thickening smoke. One arm brushed Hermione's large pile of buttons, sending them flying across the room as Hermione gave an outraged yelp. His broken wand, still smoking, stabbed Harry in the forehead, and one elbow came down to smash the fleeing beetle in a slight _crunch_.

Smiling slightly, Artemis resumed making buttons. He almost pitied Hermione for having such an oaf for a friend. Almost.

* * *

The class ended on a triumphant note. Artemis, after counting up his buttons, found he had 78; Hermione had 69. After exchanging smirks/frowns, Artemis continued on to History of Magic.

It was not far from Transfiguration, and due to Artemis' efficiency even whilst walking he beat the majority of the Ravenclaw class and all of the Slytherin class. More then a little bored, he slid into his customary seat in the front.

The classroom was not unlike McGonagall's in the fact that it had many books lining it, although it was obvious it had not been properly taken care of. The ceiling had cracks running through the whitewash, and paint chips littered the bottoms of the walls, worn pine wood showing where they had come from. No complex transfiguration spells were on the dust-covered boards, or, indeed, anything; clearly, he was depending on the students to take notes on his lecture for the day.

Artemis pulled out _The Calling_ again and began to read, anticipating that it would be a long wait. Through the seven days he had been here he had only been able to work his way through thirty or so pages, which was well below Artemis' normal reading standards. However, excuses had to be made for Artemis, since _The Calling_ was hardly a normal book.

_The Calling_ had thus only gone through much of the history behind the 'Fey' races as Salazar called it, but it had proved invaluable. Most history and even common folklore had been sanitized for the modern audience, leaving out some details that would undoubtedly upset most people, in the Muggle world. Sprout's lecture on when Artemis was about to go into the subject of how Mandrake could be combined with Unicorn blood for a potion that would help one resist most spells only confirmed it was true for the magical world. People would rather forget the bloodier and more embarrassing facts from the past.

But not Artemis. He had plans for some of the things already outlined in _The Calling_. Plans that involved Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest, among other things.

He was interrupted from his devious thoughts by the scrape of chair being pulled out. Startled, he saw the card players, Chance, Spader and Jack, slid into the seats to his left.

Chance saw his faintly befuddled expression and grinned. "We figured you'd get a little bored all by your lone self, 'specially since it's History." Jack nodded in agreement.

Artemis kept his face expressionless as he continued to read. "And what made you think I would be bored?"

"Every person in his right mind would be bored in History!" Jack replied, sounding surprised.

"I wouldn't be so sure of his sanity." Spader cut in. "After all, he _did_ only ask for Beans when he could have had anything from Granger."

Jack, the one furthest from Artemis, interrupted before Spader could continue. "Awe, Spader! Stop being so bitter! You got over it when I put hearts all over your robes last year!"

Spader wheeled around, glaring at Jack with intense brown eyes. "That was _you_?!"

In the fight that ensued between the pair, Artemis scooted down a few more chairs. Best seat in the class or not, he was not going to let himself or any of his belongings get dirty.

_How did those oafs get into Ravenclaw?_ Artemis wondered, flipping through _The Calling_ for where he had last left off. _They_ have _no brains._

The arrival of the Professor momentarily cut off that line of thought.

Professor Binns was a ghost, as many of Hogwart's residents happened to be, although he had one of the duller pasts. By all accounts he had died one night whilst sleeping in the Teacher's Lounge and the next morning just got up again to teach. Although Artemis knew of how inspiring loyalty could be—Butler would die for him—he would be hard=-pressed to find out anything inspiring about _him_.

"Today, class, we shall be going over the affect the Goblin Rebellion had on the relationship between Goblins and Muggles. In 1732, the Goblin I.B. Halfheart found that…"

Artemis found himself yawning, but quickly shut his mouth. Binns had a way of making something that would have normally interesting Artemis into a subject of unbearable boredom. Perhaps it was his nasal, droning voice and the flat emotionless way he spoke, or maybe the plain appearance that lacked both a sense of style and cleanliness, but he was thoroughly boring.

Letting his mind wander, Artemis quickly succumbed to his spinning thoughts and plots for the future.

* * *

When class was finally dismissed, it took several moments for the class to react, being so firmly entrenched in daydreams. Artemis was among the first to realize the certain absence of the hated voice, and the sound of him tripping ungracefully over Malfoy's outstretched foot helped shake the rest.

Artemis rubbed his eyes, continuing his way down the corridor. It had been a long day, one that he was eager to put an end to. The only class he had even a mild interest in, Transfiguration, had turned out to be a wild disappointment; indeed, the one in which he learned the most was Defense Against Dark Arts, and most of that did not involve the lesson.

_Dumbledore,_ Artemis thought decisively, _is a student hater._ His thoughts were well-grounded; Snape cared more for exacting petty revenge on students then actually teaching, Lockhart was a git and nothing more, Sprout just used them a free labor, McGonagall undoubtedly had more thoughts on her political status as a bridge, and Binns was a boring ghost whose class held none in thrall. In short, Dumbledore did not have the student's best interests in mind when he hired them.

Truth be told, Artemis was entertaining thoughts of dropping out, instead turning to establishing himself in the Wizarding world. If he started early, he would have more time to plot and steal then if he waited until seven years he was up. It was true many of the things he had in mind could be directed from Hogwarts, or even dealt by himself, but all plots are best carried out when one can devote all their thoughts to it, not just the section not racing to get the homework done.

However, culture was something he could learn only when wandering in the subject's midst, and he would need to understand their culture if he was going to plot much. He was still pitifully lacking in knowledge when it came to the Wizarding world, something that would have to remedied. And what better place then Hogwarts?

_At least until third year._ Artemis told himself, waving away mental images of him in a straight jacket. _After that, I'm free._

Quickening his step at thoughts of greener fields, he soon made his way to the portrait of Lenore.

What met his eyes was a curious sight; Lenore was the same, black haired lady beneath a witch hazel tree, and Ebon, the Raven, was perched on her shoulder, completely unchanged. Before Lenore, back towards Artemis, was a gray-clothed man, obviously wealthy by the rich velvets and silks he draped himself in. His hair was dark brown, long and curly as was the fashion in the Victorian Age.

Lenore's blue eyes widened in shock when she saw him coming, and she gave the man before her a hard kick in the shins. He doubled over, hopping like a frog as he clutched his injured leg. Before he left the elaborate gilt picture frame Artemis caught a glimpse of pained gray eyes and an extremely pale face, both extremely handsome.

Artemis stepped up to the portrait, eyeing Lenore dubiously. "And who was that?" he inquired blandly.

Lenore made a grimace of distaste. "Stupid Dorian again. He just won't give up. Password?"

Artemis' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Dorian? As in Dorian Grey?"

"That's the one." Lenore replied, inspecting a scuff mark on her black dress shoes, whish just peeped out form the hem of her billowing black robes. "Password?"

Artemis shook his head, deciding that he would puzzle this out later. "Mistletoe."

The portrait opened, revealing the low tunnel that would take him to the Common Room. Ducking his head to make it past the low entryway, he made his way in.

Once he realized that Cho and her friends had beaten him—he had wanted to plot before the fireplace in a particularly comfortable chair he had been eyeing—he walked up the long spiral staircase to the second-years' room. By the silence issuing from the door Artemis deemed it empty of the card players, and entered.

Immediately sat himself down in front of his chest, muttering the spell that would open it. The bronze clasp on it glowed for a moment, and then _clicked_ open.

After rummaging around in its contents for several minutes Artemis pulled the failed prototype from the chest's depths, and placed it on his plush blue bedspread. Replacing several of the objects he had taken out from the chest quickly, he then reactivated the elaborate locking charm and closed the curtains around his bed.

Just in time; the sound of a door opening sounded, joined by the incessant chattering of the three card players. Apparently not noticing the drawn curtains around Artemis' bed, they made their way to the back of the dormitory to most likely play more card games.

_Perfect._ He thought. Their noise would cover whatever sound his tinkering would cause, and no one in their right mind would come up here and search with them around.

The smile was eased off his face as he settled down for the long night ahead. After all, how else was he going to run his criminal empire?

* * *

PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:

Well, when I look back at some of my earlier chapters bile rises ion my throat for the OOC-ness I put the characters through, as well as an abrupt change of style. Also, there are many of inconsistencies and wrong spells, as Techy El Nerd commented. Right now I'm going through the chapters and editing them, but a few I want to completely re-do, as well as fill in a few gaps by adding chapters and/or mushing chapters together.

I would like suggestions on which areas I should re-do, and some holes I should fill. What I have thus far are plans to re-write chapters one through four, and I'm adding a classic Colfer-style introduction and more interludes for Holly and Trouble to clarify what they're doing. If there's something else, please tell me. It's a week-and-a-half-long car ride out to Prince Rupert on the Pacific Coast, so I shall obviously have a lot of time to write.

Please e-mail your suggestions rather then place them in your reviews, although if you are unfortunate enough as to not have an e-mail address (Or lazy enough as to not write an e-mail), send them in via review.

Merci beaucoup.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper

P.S. The next chapter is not going to deal with Artemis, just as a warning. It's going to be catching up on various minor characters, since I have been abandoning them for so long.


	17. Miscellania

Disclaimer: This is not mine, and it shall never be unless Colfer and Rowling get stupid and give up their copyright. But hey! you never know.

This and the next chapter—last chapter for a long time—are going to be catching up on all the other characters. Just thought I'd give you fair warning.

Oh, and I'm still open for revision suggestions.

And a reminder; if you have comments on this story, corrections, etc, they shall all be answered personally via e-mail. I hope that's an encouragement, since I'm getting precious few constructive criticisms or critiques. Please do not hesitate in giving them out! This story isn't going to get better unless **you** help!

Chapter Sixteen: Miscellania

* * *

**Juliet's House**

**Hogsmeade**

_Is this what growing up is?_ Juliet wondered, eyeing her hot pink luggage piled by her room's door with growing distaste. _Learning that everything you ever liked is just plain stupid?_

Mary-Sue besides her looked at her in concern. "You mean you'd rather have green in the house then pink? And I can have my mauve living room?"

Juliet nodded tiredly, wondering what she was going to do about all her pink clothes and things. Although some of her things were a respectable green or blue, the majority of her things were _pink_. Hot pink, magenta, fuchsia, cherry pink, carnation, pale rose, coral, strawberry…

She shuddered openly, and Mary-Sue gave her a loose one-handed embrace. "What's wrong? Boy giving you trouble?"

Juliet withdrew from Mary-Sue and plopped down on her—fortunately—green bed. "No," she said wearily, letting herself sink onto her back, "it's nothing."

Mary-Sue, naïve as she was, knew a lie when she heard one. "What is it?" she asked again, sitting down on the bed besides Juliet.

Juliet remained silent, closing her eyes against the ceiling—painted a light carnation pink.

"Is it that Artemis fellow you were talking so much about?" Mary-Sue asked, crossing her arms. "Since if it is…" She strangled the air in front of her, making a show of throttling it with freshly moisturized hands tipped with glittering purple nails.

"No…" Juliet trailed off, opening her eyes again to gaze listlessly at the swirls of coral above her. "It's just that—that—"

"That what?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just leave."

Mary-Sue sounded shocked. Juliet had never acted like this before. "Juliet..."

"Just go!" she cried, opening her eyes to glare at Mary-Sue. "I need to be alone!"

"Yes, missus." Mary-Sue responded, picking herself up from the bed and tucking her lustrous gold curls behind her ear. "Just tell me if you need anything."

"I will." Juliet said softly as the door shut behind her roommate. "I just have to figure out my life."

Juliet wouldn't leave her suite for another four days. Poor Mary-Sue ended up having to cook for herself, which did not bode well with her stomach.

* * *

**Faerie's**** Gambit**

**Forbidden ****Forest******

Holly sighed, brushing back what hair had grown since leaving Haven. It had been another difficult day working towards the eventual capture of Artemis Fowl. Very little had been accomplished, except for the discovery of Juliet in Hogsmeade. Although this presented interesting possibilities, she would have to wait for Trouble to arrive before she could formulate any plans.

_Where is that little swear-toad?_ Holly wondered, reaching for the berry-bucket on the shelf. _He was supposed to get here hours ago._

It was a fair insult; Trouble Kelp had been told to rendezvous with her at dusk at Faerie's Gambit, where they would contact Foaly and Root to give a report on their actions and to receive new orders. He had agreed to search Hogwarts for Artemis' quarters today so Holly would rest her arm a bit and investigate Hogsmeade.

She had grudgingly agreed to take the easier of the two jobs; after Artemis had, ah, _given_ them to the Whomping Willow, Holly's arm and the majority of her ribs had been broken. She had fixed as many of them as she could, but she had run out of magic before completely healing. Trouble had suffered little injury at the fronds of the Willow, and had managed to bring the very weak Holly back to Faerie's Gambit before the spiders came out at dusk. She had not been able to find a nearby oak tree at the bend in a river so she could be running hot again, and thus was not feeling too good. Pity she had already used her spare acorn for the trip.

Holly groaned as she tried to move her bound right arm, feeling her half-healed bones grind against one another despite the splint. Was this what Mud-men had to deal with every time they got hurt? She shouldn't be too quick to judge them in how much pain they could take.

_I bet Artemis never broke a bone in his life._ She thought grumpily to herself, pouring herself a cup of tea from the leaf-pot Trouble had fashioned. _He always has __Butler__ to take the bullets for him. Plus he never gets thrown from tenth-story windows. He _is_ the thrower._

Smiling to herself at the thought of Artemis getting hurt for once, Holly curled up in the woven grass blanket and slept with firelight flickering across her angular face. Trouble would wake her once he arrived.

* * *

**Gryffindor****Tower******

**Hogwarts ****School**** of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Had Holly known what trouble Trouble had gotten himself into, she certainly wouldn't have called him a swear-toad. She would have called him something considerably worse.

At the moment Trouble was entertaining the notion of disregarding his orders not to reveal themselves to the students of Hogwarts and punch the sniveling owner of the toad croaking in his face. It had, after all, decided that the best place to hide from its master was also in Trouble's hiding place.

He was tucked under a set of drawers in the Gryffindor common room, curled as close to the wall as his elfin frame allowed. Fortunately for the pale-faced boy, it was dark enough that Trouble appeared only as a shadow, but at any moment one of the chubby hands could, instead of brushing the toad, touch _him_ and break his cover.

In many ways, an open confrontation would be preferable to this. Trouble had been itching to wrap his hands around Artemis' scrawny neck every since that debilitating throw out the window, and for all he knew the boy calling out for his toad Trevor could be the object of his hand's desire.

_Or not_. Trouble thought dejectedly, hearing the tremble to the boy's voice. _He's too stupid to be Fowl._ He had, after all, at one point cried out for the toad to not bite him. Trouble was fairly certain Artemis knew enough of his biology to know that toads don't bite.

The toad leapt to the side when the boy's clammy hand shot in again, narrowly missing Trouble's unhelmeted head in the cramped space. Trouble began regretting his smart idea of spying on the students even more then ever as his heart jumped. Having a heart attack before Root would be a cruel fate indeed.

"Trevor, just come out!" the boy called, his hand darting under the drawers. His fingers touched Trevor, and tightened around its legs for a moment. The toad, giving an indignant _ribbit_, lurched forward and freed himself of the hand.

"Need help, Neville?" a voice asked from by the boy, somewhat laughingly.

The boy got off his knees and stood up so only the hem of his black robes and untied shoes could be seen. "Ha—Harry! Ron! I thought you'd be in the common room!"

Another voice laughed, and two pairs of feet walked in front of the dresser. Trouble gulped at the thought of facing three Wizards, there being limits to how gung-ho he was. "Hermione kept pestering us about practicing for Transfiguration more, so we came up here."

The first voice continued. "She said something about looking for her book too, didn't she?"

The pale boy—Neville?—stepped closer to the drawers. "Trevor's beneath this. I can't get him out, and he's been down there all day!" His voice quavered slightly.

"Have you tried moving the dresser?" the second voice asked.

He started getting on his knees, but was stopped when the first voice interrupted. "Have you tried luring him out with food?"

There was a rustling of cloth as the two new boys stepped on either side of the dresser. Neville must have nodded "Well, then we should move it. Neville, you grab Trevor after we lift it up."

Trouble groaned to himself, and curled up in a ball so he could jump up better. There was nothing he could do.

With twin groans the dresser lifted nearly two feet in the air, and Neville lunged down to grab the toad.

Trouble caught a glimpse of widening eyes, and cursed again before lunging out to tackle the boy. He shouldn't have wasted all his magic on his own little scratches and bruises from the Willow.

"Harr—" Neville started, but was silenced as Trouble knocked him out with a swift punch to the forehead. Leaping up, Trouble spun around to face the two boys.

The dresser fell with a clang as the two boys stared at him, but, fortunately for Trouble, one leg of it landed on the red-head's foot.

Falling into a series of foul curses, the red-head threw himself back onto one of the beds lining the dormitory, followed swiftly by the black-haired boy as Trouble shoved him towards the yowling red-head. Trouble, thinking quickly, ripped one of the curtains from another bed and threw the heavy red velvet onto the struggling figures. So far so good.

Trouble looked around quickly, looking for a way out. The dormitory was too high in the air to jump from a window, and the walls too steep to safely climb. The only option was the door from whence he came.

Trouble dived for the ajar door, crashing through the students milling around for the source of the noise and half-ran, half-tripped his way down the stairs. The door of his entry, half-hidden beneath the stairs, was only a few steps away…

"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" a shrill voice cried, and Trouble found himself frozen, unable to move as someone came from behind and caught him as he fell. He fought in vain against the clutches of the spell, trying to keep himself from being dragged away.

Trouble found himself looking down at the plush red carpet, unable to see where he was going. Turning towards his other senses, Trouble could hear the pounding of feet as people ran up—stairs?—and innumerable questions from somewhere to the right and above.

The flooring abruptly changed from red carpeting to hardwood floor as the Mud-Man continued to drag him, his rigid body dragging on the floor. Distantly he heard a door slide shut, and the sound of heavy breathing from the Mud-Man dragging him. Struggling to move his eyes, Trouble could see by his peripheral vision the steady moving feet, and above that stockinged legs. Not a Mud-Man, but a Mud-Maid.

Trouble tried to move his fingers again through the haze of tumbling thoughts, and was rewarded with a faint twitch from his thumb. Keep at it, keep at it…

The dragging stopped abruptly, and Trouble saw two hands—girl hands—grab him by the shoulder and prop him against the nearby wall.

He was in the same passageway he used to get into the Gryffindor Tower, a seemingly endless spiral upwards and downwards with the occasional door branching into more passageways and, eventually, the upper-level prefect's rooms.

Not that Trouble would know any of this. He was too busy trying to free up his limbs.

The girl before him brushed back her bushy brown hair from her face and tapped her glowing wand to the door before her. "Alohamora."

Had Trouble been in control of his facial muscles he would have gasped. Even the narrow sliver he could see through the door showed portraits—hundreds upon hundreds of portraits.

The girl turned to him and, grasping him by the shoulders again, dragged him through the doorway, breathing heavily.

The door shut behind them, and the girl leaned him up against a painting of a lavish study. "Promise not to run away?"

Trouble, not being able to shake his head, made no response.

The girl shook her head, muttering to herself about a book or something, and tapped her glowing wand to his chest.

Warmth blossomed from the wand-tip, freeing muscles as it spread through his limbs. Shuddering slightly from the slimy feel of Mud-Man magic, Trouble eyed the girl before him.

The girl looked at him right back, speculation creasing her brow. "What do you want of us?"

Trouble narrowed his eyes, bending his knees to spring. "What's it to you?"

"My life." She responded in turn, raising her wand threateningly and backing up when she saw the set line to his jaw.

Trouble's eyes, if possible, narrowed even further. Holly _had_ mentioned something about having a spy in Hogwarts. Could this Mud-Maid be trusted?

Seeing he wasn't about to talk, the girl continued. "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm not going to tell anyone about you, if that's what you're worried about."

"Do—" He hesitated, weighing the possibilities. She had a wand. He didn't.

"Do I know McGonagall?" she finished, and smiled at his befuddled expression. "She's my teacher. I know about her being an Animagus and all, and that there's a trace magic in her. It wasn't from anything standard, and it was like a pixies'. Since you look similar to one—" She gestured towards his pointed ears and angular face, "—I figured you came back for her or something."

Trouble took a gamble. One that he would later regret. "Do you know Artemis Fowl?"

Hermione's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Tell me everything."

* * *

I KNOW THIS WAS CONFUSING. Just to get it straight with you guys. Questions about that entire last section shall be addressed next chapter, so please don't bug me about it in the review. Yes, it is something that shall make sense. Please trust me on this.

I hope the first bit explained why I made Juliet so OOC earlier. She's growing up quite a bit, since I noticed that between the first book and the third she was more mature.

Please, PLEASE don't bug me about the portrait room/Trouble's trust/Hermione's actions/why the Pixie spell worked until next chapter! I swear upon all I hold dear that it'll make sense next Tuesday, when I post the next chapter. Please!

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	18. Alliances

Disclaimer: Should I be writing something here? Yes. Now go away.

A/N: This is my last chapter for a long time. As in several months long. I hope I shall answer many questions in this chapter, and leave many more. I beg thee readers for critiques, remarking on things other then wrong spells and various OOC anomalies (I'm aware of them, and am taking care of them in my revisions), since when I get back I shall be typing up the entirely rewritten stuff I have and posting it.

Chapter Seventeen: Alliances

* * *

Hermione frowned, watching Trouble's retreating back. So much had been explained this long night, but so much left unanswered.

Much of the mystery behind Artemis' past had been explained—right down to the funny green book he had been carrying around, _The Calling_. He was every bit as evil as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and certainly not to be trusted.

She clutched her head with her hands. She had hoped when the rumors of Fowl coming to the school that she might have someone to talk to about intellectual matters, something she could only do in a limited matter with McGonagall. It was a funny yearning, just to be able to connect with someone like that. She didn't even really need to be friends with him.

But he couldn't be trusted. Trouble had told her that. The leprechauns—no, the _LEPrecons_—were trying to bring him back to their city underground to mind-wipe him. He had said something about this being a new battleground, so the fact they had lost last time would not make them be breaking any rules.

In all truth, Hermione had not been able to absorb everything Trouble had told her—the Book, their sundering from both Muggle and Wizarding kind, the Fairies' new existence beneath the crust of the world, their own brand of magic—but much of it still did not add up. Why did they further sunder themselves from Wizards? They had once lived and cooperated with each other much in the way of they had with the Muggles, perhaps even closer. What had driven them apart?

She shook her head again, and looked around her. Such time for thinking shall be later. For now, she had better make the best of her location.

The Portrait Room, as she called it, had been one of her most fortunate discoveries. After Fred and George Weasley had heard her complaining about the noise in the Common Room being too great to study, they had told her of the passage. It had an evasive spell on it that did not let anyone but those who knew it was there see it, and only those that knew the password, 'Penelope', through.

They had told her it was the Prefect's corridor, where they would store things and hold their own private councils with one another. The Portrait Room had been the first she had explored in full, and was used to store the portraits and tapestries not in use, one of the Prefects' jobs being to switch the portraits every so often.

"Who was that House Elf that came in, young lady?" a portrait of an imposing wizard asked from above her head. "And was all that nonsense about? Had he gone loony?"

"No, Adams," Hermione said wearily, sinking deeper into the chair she had dragged in from the Common Room, "he's a friend. Called himself a LEPrecon agent or something." Suddenly, she asked, "Would you know anything about them? They separated from us around you time, didn't they? Early thirteenth century?"

The tall wizard scratched his balding head, peering across to look a portrait of an elderly old woman. "No, never heard of them. Have you, Estella?"

She shook her head, straightening her wide carnation-pink skirts. "'fraid not, m'dear. Never heard a bit 'bout this. I had a lovely House Elf though, with ears just like that Trouble fellow. You know, not all batty like these modern ones running about."

Several of the other portraits that had been painted around that time nodded in agreement, muttering vaguely about not hearing a thing about LEPrecons or anything else.

Hermione sighed openly, and picked herself out of her chair. "I suppose not. If he's lying, I'll know soon." She yawned, and looked up at the smiling portraits. "I'm coming by tomorrow around six-ish to study. Can you be awake by then?"

Almost everyone nodded, and returned to talking amongst themselves. Hermione yawned again, and staggered her way out of the room. Acting was always something to practice. Such a useful skill.

Once the heavy oak door was shut, she immediately pressed her ear to the keyhole, listening for the conversation sure to follow.

Sure enough, her friend Adams spoke first. "Is she gone?"

The kindly voice of the old lady, Estella, lost all signs that she was, in fact, of the sweet grandmother type. "Never again, Roland. I can't lie to her again. She's such a sweet, keeping us company like that. We shouldn't have to do this."

"Would you rather have us be on Dumbledore's bad side?" a bold voice cried, identifying the speaker as the conservative Evan. "We're not to speak of the Fairies, just like we're not supposed to speak of a thousand other things."

_Dumbledore?__ Putting a_ ban _on mention of Fairies? No, it couldn't be…_

"Always butting into our business, he was." A cross young witch answered. Hermione knew her as Lobelia, who never failed to find room to gossip. "Heamaster or no, he had no right to tell us not to talk to the students about such matters!"

Hermione could almost feel the tension growing on the other side of the wall. Growing more excited, she pressed even harder against the door, trying to make out the individual arguments of the portraits as all-out pandemonium broke out.

"Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster we've ever had! How could you even think of defying him?!"

"…and what of Hermione? If she's getting embroiled in this mess too, those friends she keeps talking about are going to get mixed up in all of this. Potter worst of all."

"She knows. Short of an _Obliviate_, how are we supposed to get her out of this? We've been sundered long enough; time to rejoin!"

"They're entirely different! You cannot possibly hope to just force two entirely different cultures together like that! It would be a disaster! Best to leave well enough alone."

"'Well enough' is about to end. Between that rotten Fowl chap here with that _book_ and Fairies snooping around Hogwarts without permission, it will be no time at all before the Ministry gets involved!"

Hermione did not budge from her position by the door until the stars had fled from the sky.

* * *

_"It's a pity, Fowl, that you weren't born Pure."_

_Artemis opened his eyes, finding himself standing in the middle of a grassy savanna, the same one he had seen in his previous dream. _

_He blinked, and a tall man clothed in flowing black robes appeared. His skin was white, the sort not associated with lack of sunlight but with true death. Whatever facial features he had were otherwise hidden by a deep cowl._

_"Who are you?" Artemis asked coldly, remaining as calm as he could. He did not like dreams. He did not have control over the situation._

_"Salazar Slytherin." The man answered, and a silver-clasped green book appeared in his hand. "I trust you'll recognize this?"_

_Artemis nodded. "_The Calling_."_

_"But do you understand its purpose?" The man's voice was only a touch over cold, sounding faintly amused._

_"To aid in the binding of magical creatures," Artemis answered, "to teach the art of using them, twisting them to your advantage."_

_The man laughed, but it quickly subsided to a less amused tone. "You've read little of it, Mister Fowl, and how naïve you are! I did not write the book to aid anyone but me."_

_Artemis cocked an eyebrow. "Then why was it published?"_

_He looked confused for a moment, and then laughed again coldly. "Artemis, you foolish boy! Maybe in your little Muggle world, every book that is bound had been published. There was only one of these, which I made for none but those of my line." He sneered. "You, despite a streak of deviousness and intelligence, are hardly of my line. A Dark Wizard's, perhaps, but certainly not my own kin except by marriage."_

_Artemis frowned, eyes glazing over as his brain whirled with thoughts. After several minutes he spoke again. "I deserved that," he conceded, "but it matters not who one is related to unless it involves money and power." _Then it matters a lot, _he thought to himself. _

_The man seemed thrown off by this, but then snapped his fingers, opening the already levitating book. Artemis, even with his excellent vision, had to squint to make out the intricately twined designs around the edges, let alone make out the actual details. _

_"Can't read it?" the man said mockingly, snapping his fingers again. Instead of bring the book closer to him, which was what Artemis expected, it made it soar into Salazar's hand. He pocketed it, and continued. "Finish it, and you'll might be worthy of finding the gold at the end of the rainbow." The man threw back his hood, revealing intense black eyes and a coldly calculating face not unlike Artemis' in its emotionless stance. "Not that you already haven't." _

_Artemis found himself alone on the vast expanse of golden grass, watching the cornflower sky with unseeing eyes. Barely a wizard for a week. He couldn't wait until he could get out of Hogwarts._

* * *

When Artemis awoke, it was not yet even dawn. Far from it.

Why was he having these dreams? It obviously implied one of two things; insanity, or perhaps a drop of seer blood. Since insanity was obviously out of the question, it left only the other. Yet another reason to find his family's roots.

He checked the moon outside his window, recalling his brief study of selenology Barely past two. He really must be getting some sleep.

Yet…

He sat down on the broad windowsill, letting his eyes rake the Hogwarts Grounds below. Unexpectantly, he found himself thinking of Hermione. Could she be trusted, or turned from her ever-righteous path? She was very intelligent, he knew, and perhaps they would be a good pair for criminal activities. Although she did not have the grasp on Wizarding culture he so needed for his formulating schemes, she had more of it understood then he. Besides, he had always wanted someone to talk to about intellectual matters. Juliet hardly fulfilled that need.

_If only she wasn't so righteous. __A_rtemis mused, eyes tracing the path the three-quarters moon would take. _She reacted poorly enough when I stated I wished to be in Slytherin. But to actually ask her for help in my schemes…? _

"No." he whispered, closing his eyes, "I'd rather be alone."

_As always._ His mind echoed, but his thoughts were turned to a different path when he opened his eyes again to see a dark figure scurrying across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. It was disproportionate to the Gamekeeper's hut, much more then could be explained about his certain size, and by tracing its path backwards he could see it came from…

"Gryffindor Tower." He breathed, eyes widening ever so slightly. "Of course." Pressing his face against the glass, he could just see the bare outline of a door at the Tower's base, not entirely closed. Even as he watched the dark figure—either Holly or Trouble, depending on who had dared to try and find him again—turned and scurried back towards the door. It closed it, and, after looking back towards one of the higher levels of the tower, began running back towards the Forest.

Artemis reached towards his wand leaning up against his bed and opened the window. He pointed the wand at the silhouette and, keeping his hand steady, murmured, "Amplifica".

A circle drew itself in front of him, showing an enlarged version of the figure. He—definitely a he—looked battered, but wore an excited expression on his face and appeared to be muttering under his breath.

Artemis was about to cast the spell that would reveal what he was saying when the figure stopped suddenly, rearing up and looking around him. His gaze fixed itself on Artemis' position, and his eyes narrowed.

He picked up a sharp stick from the ground and stabbed himself with it until there was some darkish blood oozing from his upper arm. His brow furrowed with concentration and frustration, but it still took too long then must have been normal for a solitary blue spark to work its way into the cut and healing it.

The image fizzled for a few moments, and dissipated into a spray of white sparks. Artemis closed his eyes against the light, and when he opened them again the silhouette was gone. Apparently Fairy magic interfered with targeted Wizarding magic, much in the same way Hogwarts interfered with 'Muggle' technology. Very interesting indeed.

On the other side of the windowsill someone groaned, and Artemis reflexively reached for his wand. When Chance popped his red-gold head out from behind the curtains, Artemis relaxed. Chance would not understand what had just happened even if he had seen it.

"What's the bright light for?" Chance muttered sleepily, eyelids heavy with weariness.

Artemis managed to fake a reassuring smile. "Nothing," he lied easily, slipping back into his own bed and standing his wand against one carved bed post, "I just had to quiet Spencer's snores."

Chance managed to look more confused then normal. "Whaa? Y'mean Spader? He doesn't snore."

"He just did." Artemis pointed out, and closed his curtains, stopping the conversation cold.

Within a few minutes Chance's breathing deepened and became regular. Artemis', however, did not. He simply had too much to think about. You couldn't exactly blame him.

* * *

Last bit I'm giving you guys for a long time. Hope you're happy, because in three chapters Artemis won't be. Quite the contrary.

My brother who simply loves insulting this sounds like Artemis is in love. Please do not take it so. Those who have asked have gotten a more complex answer regarding that.

Ha. I'm nice and cynical today. Don't mind me. In any case, the next chapter shall probably be up on the 25th of August. Sorry guys, but if I didn't see the mountains again, I would simply die.

"_Onen i-coi Ered, ú-chebin estel anim". Variation on Gilraen's despairing linnod, 'I have given my life to the mountains, I have kept no hope for myself'. _

Namárië and merci beaucoup,

Nallasariel the Weeper

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

_silivren penna míriel,_

_o menel aglar elenath..._

__


	19. Tangents Collide

Disclaimer: Bugger off, unless you plan on giving a good critique on all the reasons why this is _not_ my work, and how I managed either to or not to make a good story out of an increasingly used cliché (Decide for yourself which one). I mean it.

A/N: Anywho, I walked into this used bookstore in Juneau a week ago (This was written mid-July, in case you care) and saw a series by the name of _Discworld_ on sale for 20$. Being the somewhat quick reader I am, I decided to buy the entire set (It was 20 dollars for twenty-plus books! Come _on_!). Upon finding myself in stitches every night for a week, I found myself writing more and more like the satirical writer of these books, Terry Pratchett. That shall explain the style change, which is hopefully for the better _and shall not be in other stories_.

And to avoid confusion, I have added an Introduction to the very beginning, which explains why this was a double-update on the Author Alert.

More notes on the bottom.

Chapter Eighteen: Tangents Collide

* * *

Time passes slowly in Hogwarts, whether because of the extreme boredom of (most) students or the dense magical aura is not known. 

It was time itself Artemis decided to devote his thoughts to next.

It is a truly unusual thing, time. Artemis had rarely thought of it other then a nuisance before, something that he wished he could direct and divert with more ease. There was not a soul in the universe that did not wish she, he or it had more of time, or, better yet, the ability to rewind and replay time.

It was the possibility of this that made Artemis pay attention to Binn's otherwise boring history class.

He had quickly discovered, over the course of the last week, that this class was the only one he could actually gain anything from. However much Transfiguration or Herbology could be taught from a book, it took someone real to teach such an abstract thing as History and not be trapped in the worn path of a particular bias.

History was one of those things that any idiot could read up in a book and say they know plenty about it, and even get a decent degree in. Most people thought of it as such, just something that _stayed the same_. However, that was History in its simplest form, only menial lower-case history, where it remained untainted by misinformation and, of course, the relentless passage of interpretation.

Before—ah, _before,_ when everything was simple!—Artemis had let the Graves and Binns of the universe toddle around in the dust-shrouded libraries while he studied more current affairs, such as physics and chemistry. It had served him perfectly well when he was only skimming the surface of the present, taking advantage of the moment in order to fulfill the instinctive desire for gold.

Perhaps in the Muggle world History—with a capital _H_—was utterly useless. Some people dress it up, take away the _H _and slap a catchy phrase on it, or try to pull tiresome and repetitious morals when you weren't looking. History teachers tend to ignore the _whys_ and go straight to _whats_ simply because their heads—as students are so fond of saying—are too clogged with all that dust.

Binns was different. He _knew_ History, knew all sides of it. He knew the biases and the I'd-rather-not-knows like the back of his translucent hands, and said the version that would produce the best future.

You see, Artemis quickly developed an admiration for History with a capital _H_. It was genius, unexpected, and a possible tool. History, history in the hands of those intelligent enough to read its intricate flows and lies, was something Artemis would be proud to wield, even if it involved getting his nails a bit dirty with all that damn dust.

It only took a few looks around the classroom, a few innocent questions to see he was the only one at Hogwarts that really understood what was going on. He doubted most of the other teachers even understood the slow manipulation of the past.

Reasoning led him to believe even Binns was somewhat unaware of the slow change of the past. It would be simple thoughts that would gradually change the events and villains of the battles, erasing and adding at will, such as _This__ battle is too, ah,_ mature _for their young minds._ or _Does it_ really _matter that the Battle of Nethertide was too close to really call, or must it be said it was the only literal tie in the Goblin Wars?_.

Time and two lectures showed that people _wanted_ to forget the past, wanted to lose the taint of their ancestors. Eradication of history into warped History was quickened, the secrets of the past covered as the last remnants of that age died off, whether in a Berlin fire or a Salem one. Time was being choked as it was manipulated, led blindly in front of an unknowing humanity to some strange end.

Yet someone, somewhere, some_how _was that manipulator.

But who? Such a thing would take millions of undercover agents, casting minute Confundus Charms to muddle the historians' otherwise immaculate memory and tireless resolution to be accurate. Entire books would have to be changed over time, words slowly adjusted to turn the thoughts of a species. Fact and fiction alike was spun on a web more complex even then an Orb Spider's web, the end unclear to Artemis. To even notice the steady corruption of time, let alone change it, you would either have to be very, very smart, or very, very old. Maybe both.

Even then, there was a myriad of near-immortals in existence. Even humans without the aid of Unicorn's Blood or The Elixir could live hundreds, even thousands of years if they lived write and drank the occasional longevity potion. Near-human species, like centaurs and mermyds, had human or even extra-human intelligence and still managed to live for long periods of time. Even something as simple as House-Elves could be the cause; capable of telepathy, long lives and extreme dedication to whatever task set before them.

His thoughts eventually spun to the Fairies of Haven, and found a firm rest there.

They had a secretive and long-lived Council to guide them.

They had near-infinite resources.

They had a large, extremely gullible population.

They had a bone-deep hatred for Mud-Men.

It all fit.

Artemis was getting more pleased by the second. He might not be so bored at Hogwarts, after all.

* * *

Artemis was wrong when he thought himself alone in these thoughts. Wrong for the right reasons, since the object of this mistake made sure that she could not be pinpointed by her knowledge. 

How was it that it was always, _always_ a librarian?

Librarians are one of those overlooked beings in the universe, tirelessly erasing pen streaks in borrowed books and playing their part in the never-ending organization of the library. They are always apart from the rest of the world, like historians, and also like their somewhat more social counterparts they make small decisions that, when nudged way or another, can lead to the change of History and history alike.

The main difference between them is that librarians don't just eventually notice the odd pull of time that tries to erase History into history and go _I need more coffee_. They do something about it.

It is small things, like the steady alteration of facts over time by the teachers and writers of the world, except in the opposite direction. Instead of blurring the passage of time they sharpen it, wiping away the rust of romanticism and leave it shining in the form of a newly-lectured mind.

But Madame Pince, despite her somewhat anonymous status in the staff of Hogwarts, wanted to do something big.

She was one of those staff so dedicated, so mule-headed in her job that, if presented with the opportunity to work there forever, would become a ghost like Binns and just continue teaching.

But she still preferred being alive, thank you very much, and drank a cup of lemongrass-sage tea every morning at five o'clock sharp to keep her youth. Being transparent meant that students would be able to look right through you and still give the appearance of paying attention to a lecture. The horror.

Despite somewhat supercilious thoughts in regard to her work, Madame Pince still wanted to get out and _do_ something about the chaos spreading from History to her precious books, even if it involved becoming transparent.

Madame Pince was not stupid. To be a librarian you had to be smart, in both the intelligent and sharp-tongued definitions. She had figured a hundred or so years ago that someone, somewhere was coordinating the slow destruction of the past.

But who? It would be someone old, someone, some_thing_with intelligence. She had been born an age too late to have any reliable sources at her fingertips in regard to who was bending history in this peculiar fashion. From the fourteenth century on everything was relatively accurate, if biased, but the steady turn had happened before that. The anomaly was from before this.

Madame Pince suddenly knew what it was, and remembered the last time she had encountered foreign magic messing in Hogwarts business.

She knew exactly where to go to. Or rather, _whom_.

* * *

McGonagall leaned back in her chair, studying her desk with intense annoyance. Any onlookers would have pitied the apple sitting on top of a pile of forgotten _Standard Book of Spells_ books, since it bore the brunt of her unseeing glare. One green leaf, miraculously still attached to the stem, turned a shade browner. 

Not that she noticed. She was watching the haze above it.

"You can stop showing off any time now," she said eventually, seemingly addressing the somewhat wrinkled apple.

The haze disappeared, replaced by the cross-legged form of Holly. Her small elfin frame fit easily on the expansive desk, even finding a bit of cushioning on a pile of half-graded papers. "But I'm running hot," she complained, placing a purposeful pout on her vaguely cherubic lips. "And when you're running hot, it feels _right_ to be using magic."

McGonagall looked tempted to respond, but stopped herself. It wasn't very often she stopped a sharp tongue for the sake of friendship. "And how is the other doing?" She spat out _other_ as if it were saying _idiot_ or _nitwit_—she liked working alone every bit as much as Holly.

Holly's face sobered instantly, lips suddenly a grim smile. "That's what I'm here about."

The Professor rubbed her forehead tiredly, turning her gaze from the apple half-hidden behind Holly. It seemed to sigh in relief. "I can't do anything. Dumbledore warned me not to get muddled in these things. Thirty years ago it was fine, but now there's politics."

Holly nodded. She understood perfectly. Politics was an awful thing to deal with, as she well knew. Couldn't do a damn thing without paperwork and an interview or two, and an investigation on anything she messed up on. She was born a century too late for the glory days of policing.

McGonagall continued, reverting her gaze to Holly's hazel eyes, "But that's not what you're here about, is it? If he were injured you would have healed him, and if he were captured I would know through Dumbledore when one of your LEPrecon squads starts the next Ironwood Wa—" She stopped suddenly, her face paling a shade.

Holly confirmed the dawning realization with a nod. "One of your students is involved now," she stated, drawing her green-suited knees up to her chin. "Someone in Griffindumb, I believe."

"Gryffindor," McGonagall corrected automatically, but her lips were already forming the next words. "Granger or Potter?"

Holly shrugged her slender shoulders, eyes narrowed in concentration of her own. "The girl. Ermelien, or something like that."

McGonagall shut her eyes, and then opened them again, sighing. "It is just as well. Hermione is bright, and she already figured out that another type of magic was muddling with ours. It would only be a matter of time before she figured out the rest."

"Will she tell other students as well?" Holly's held a touch of fear in it—not for the students; she couldn't care less about them—but for McGonagall. If she lost her job, things would not be good for the Wizard-Fairy relationship.

The Professor thought about it for a moment. "No," she said eventually, bringing one aged hand up to search for the quill pen Holly had knocked over when she dropped on the desk. "She has friends, loyal friends, but she will keep this to herself. She likes knowing things others don't."

Holly nodded again. That was one of the things that made people smart in the first place. If they hungered for secrets, knowledge came second-hand on that path, an added bonus, of sorts. "You used to be like that," she said softly, touching the rotten apple.

McGonagall's eyes met Holly's again. They held surprise, hazel reflected in hazel. In the silence blue sparks crackled on the surface of the apple, the same shade of the sparks that once ran through McGonagall's blood on a cold night fifty years ago.

Her next words were brisk, however, and vaguely satirical, shattering the pensive moment. "I still am. Why else would I allow myself to fall for this sort of insanity?"

Holly smiled sisterly—or rather, what she imagined would be a sisterly smile. She never actually had any siblings to be sisterly with. The closest thing was Grub, since she figured the way she tirelessly listened to his complaints was something close to sisterhood. "Same here, 'cept that I prefer a good Neutrino to a mystery."

McGonagall nodded. Of course.

Holly, with another slight smile, jumped off the desk towards the window. A brisk tug with her arm opened it, lending a breeze to the room that swept several papers off the desk onto the hardwood floor. Within a few moments she was gone, either smashed on the grass of the Quidditch practice pitch or climbing nimbly down the brickwork and snarling stone gargoyles.

Sighing inwardly, McGonagall picked herself up from her throne-like chair and stalked out from behind the desk. Holly _could_ have just gone through the new ventilation system, like the way she had come, but _no_. She had to go for the dramatic way that would expend the most magic.

_We are not so unlike,_ McGonagall mused, shutting the stained-glass portrayal of Tara with a slight smile. _Just one of us hides our flair for the dramatic better._

She turned and bent over to pick up the first of the fallen papers. Lavender Brown. C, for her misspelling of McGonagall into some Scottish monstrosity. Second year student and still couldn't get it right.

She bent again, listening to the slight creak of her bones. She was getting old, and only a hundred. How did Dumbledore manage? He was at least twice as old as she was—

Artemis Fowl. F?

McGonagall peered closer at the _F_. It seemed to actually be a smeared _A_ (She deducted a point because of a light slur on the teaching methods at Hogwarts), but it only stood as such after close scrutiny. And the only thing that could have smeared it—

Ah. If he ever found out how it became a bedraggled _F_, Fowl would be sure to get quite a shock.

* * *

Juliet. Two days later. Hungry. 

Well, not literal, chomp-chomp _yummy!_ hungry. Hungry for figuring out herself.

She knew she was going through being a teenager, except it was all… wrong. Like her mind decided suddenly that it didn't _like_ being a child who liked pink and kittens and giggled over the latest chick-flick and that it wanted to be an adult, all suave lines and classical literature. Like she didn't know who she was.

She shut her eyes, feeling a sting as her glittering green eye-shadow leaked into her cornea. Dammit all, she was a _Butler!_ Next in a long line to serve and protect, to dive in front of those point-blank bullets and ease those midnight cravings for caviar on toasted garlic-butter baguettes.

Juliet wrestled with this image for a moment, trying to imagine herself with the theatric _Noooo_ as the next baby Arty—who on Earth would want another one of _those_?—was threatened by a maniacal asylum-ee out for revenge.

She let a slow smile cheap across her face for the first time in a while. "Close enough," she whispered. Slowly she raised one arm up to touch the pink wallpaper, felt a seam, and ripped it downwards.

_Much_ better.

* * *

The notes! 

Well, over the glorious summer of week-long expeditions on virgin peaks and glittering ice fields, there has to be a way to get up to the proper elevation before hitting the tree-line. This way tends to be exemplified in long, tedious hikes through repetitious cedar, spruce and/or pine forests with the occasional hemlock or tamarack. During those switchbacks my thoughts tend to wander, and catch some of those ideas pinging around the universe. Thus, I have several dozen stories all planned out in me head.

About a dozen of these are for Artemis Fowl.

Obviously, I shall need beta-readers. Specialized betas. Please, _please_ look at the story summaries below and volunteer if you can for them. E-mail me. _Please_. I am not fluent in Icelandic, nor an expert on hydrophysics. _And I need those kinds of people_.

**Artemis Fowl and the _Survivor!_ Situation**

As the title implies, except, unlike the few other Survivor stories I have read, the canon characters actually came into this for a very, very legitimate reason and it actually has a plot. Every character stays true. Takes place after tEC; about a year.

The beta for this doesn't need anything special, although I would like it if they had knowledge on SE-Alaskan botany. Yes, it's in Alaska, and in the panhandle of it, all in places where I have actually been. All peaks, valleys, lakes, glaciers, etc., featured are places I have actually climbed and explored sometime in the past few years.

**Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Search**

After tEC. Artemis regains his memory (duh), but, entangled in his most recent obsession, stumbles upon Atlantis. Mayhem ensues as Root is forced to deal with the bureaucracy, Artemis with his obligations, Foaly with his pride-driven search for Artemis in the Atlantean slums and Holly with swear-toad subculture.

The beta is going to have to be fairly knowledgeable in music and music theory and, if possible, the construction of musical instruments. A fellow linguist wouldn't be bad either. And someone who's read Plato's stuff on Atlantis and other basic writings as well just to double-check me.

**_Of Magic and Mayhem, Part Two_: Descent**

_Formerly Holly and Silver_

Yes, it is the sequel. I'm not going to give away much of the plot, but, ah, _bad_ things happen. Emotional, physical and historical things. Not too funny, although it had a morbid humor throughout.

For this I'd like someone that's really, _really_ good with expressing mood. I've ripped this to pieces and I'm not satisfied. Help. Please.

**Artemis Fowl and the Heart of Winter**

Ever heard of _Cat's Cradle_, by Kurt Vonnegut? Well, for those that have and actually understood the ideas behind Ice-9, they know there were several problems with how it would work (Like where would all the energy from the freezing process go, dammit!?). Basically, a tem of Icelandic glaciologists don't think the current global warming is a climatic trend and do something about it. Something that has to do with the Ice-4 (#?) buried beneath the Antarctic Ice Sheet. A lot more complicated then that, obviously, but that's the base.

Beta readers…. Beware. I would need someone good at this. Plot's done and the science behind what I have planned has been approved by my father, who has PhD's in hydrogeology, physics, and a few other spiffy things. Whoever is stupid enough to volunteer _has to know their physics_. I have the glaciology down, since that is fortunate enough to be on the Science Olympiad this year and I read a few textbooks on the subject. If anyone knows whatever language Iceland-ers speak I'd like them to step up so I can annoy them about the translations.

**Over Analyzation**

This is just a short story collection which has stories varying from Artemis after his dad's disappearance to Foaly on the mind-wipes to which LEP agent got caught to start all that crock o' gold nonsense. Just a good, general reader would be nice for these to correct typos and canonical stuff would be nice, plus they would get a sneak peak at everything with no strenuous activities. Win-win, right?

* * *

I know, I know. You're probably all wondering when I'll be posting all these outlandish stories. Well, to be honest… as soon as I have a good, steady beta-reader. A chapter a week, like this, will be average once I get far enough ahead. 

Whew…

If you don't feel like rereading OMAM now that you've finished finally, feel free to email me. I'm setting up a document with all the tidbits that are more relevant to the re-done plot that can be emailed out to those that ask.

That's all I'm going to write in regards to OMAM now, other then that I've posted the first two chapters of revisions. More shall be posted as the week advances.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	20. Curry

Disclaimer: Yes, this work can never be published because all the cool ideas belong to Colfer and Rowling. Now don't rub it in.

Chapter Nineteen: Curry

* * *

Artemis had another idea. Amazingly, it had to do with the current topic.

It occurred during his next _History of Magic _class, while Binns was still giving the syllabus. Halfway through describing the importance of historic references, no matter how unlikely, Artemis Fowl fell out of his chair.

It hadn't really been his fault. Chance, who had been sitting behind Artemis in the row, had been playing cards with Spader and Jack again while Binns was busy focusing on the opposite wall. Artemis was leaning his chair back against the blonde's desk to get a better look at _The Calling, _hidden beneath the rim of his desk and the extensive bulk of a nameless Ravenclaw in front. When Chance won that round of Hearts – beating Spader, who professed that no one could beat him at Hearts – he had scootched both his chair and desk back. Against most odds, Artemis leaned forward at that same time, trying to see if he read the controversial passage right.

Binns, despite his notoriety for being a ghost that quite literally no longer cared for life, noticed his otherwise perfect student topple to the floor. "Yes…" There was no question to that remark; Binn could not add any sort of emotion to his voice even when he was alive.

Yet this somehow managed to annoy Artemis. He picked himself off the filthy floor (Even Filch avoided Binns) and brushed himself off as thoroughly as he could, carefully keeping the tell-tale blush down to a minimum. Several people laughed, including Draco, who sat in the back of his class between Crabbe and Goyle. Spader kept an evil-looking grin as he gave the Queen of Spades to Chance.

"I am sorry, Professor," he said curtly, mind spinning as he bent over to pick his scattered books. "It shall not happen again."

Binns did not even bother to nod, and began droning on again about the importance of books.

Artemis slipped into his seat again, momentary shame erased once his thoughts began spinning again. There were continued snickers from the back of the room, and even a few from the three-odd card players, but all slipped into the back of his mind.

History books. He had figured that they were slowly being changed; that had taken five minutes of his conscious thoughts. But the change itself would not affect old books…

The time of Salazar Slytherin was the time that the Wizards got into the bad relations with the People, and before that with Muggles. What ancient book did he have that was written in that time by the most unbiased source around? It was elementary, really…

_The Calling _was a history book. All the spells, all the seemingly random laments about the current state of affairs (Which Artemis agreed with, although his version of 'those vile young childes, running aboute as if they own the place' seemed vaguely modern), were all there for a reason. Salazar didn't _mean _for the moving pictures and wiggling text to be a problem—it was all part of the mosaic. The grinning dwarfs became harbingers of doom, smiling faces showing their affiliation with him as Salazar outlined his spell that had turned their allegiance in the Iron Wars. Every picture, every word—

It _was _history, the one that stayed the same no matter what people decided. Salazar had seen something back then and wanted to stop it. The War, according to _The Calling_, was a draw, comparable to the Cold War between Russia and the U.S.A. Both sides had continued, half-denying the existence of the other.

Yet somehow, Salazar had overcome his biases and made that book. It bore none of the scars that the altered History had; it was the truth.

Holes still remained in Artemis' knowledge of _The Calling _and what exactly had happened in the Iron Wars—he had had limited time to read it thus far, since he was only into classes a week and a half—but the big picture was starting to emerge. Hidden pasts. Dark secrets. Dangerous magic. The stuff of pulp fiction.

* * *

Butler looked across towards Angeline, keeping his shaven head bowed as he spooned the curry-beef soup into his mouth. Angeline seemed to miraculously not notice the swelling numbers of paparazzi, nor the electric fence he had wired through the outermost perimeter just outside the walls. In fact, she seemed to not notice anything at all, even the certain horridness to her cooking.

He was sure it wasn't her fault she wasn't a bad cook; he had always been used to his somewhat professional culinary skills. Angeline had not cooked before she met and married Artemis Senior either, since she had been going into the waitress field in Paris, which did not happen to involve cooking. And after, she had found that the Butlers' cooking was far superior then Paris' McDonalds' for dinner.

However, with her spirit revived and nothing to do with both Artemis' in her life gone, she had decided to take up cooking, with disastrous results.

His dark eyes flickered towards Angeline again. She was still beautiful, even if worn by sorrow and tragedy. Her long brown hair hung in a long braid down her back, loose strands framed against her creamy-blue gown. His Principle, the younger of the two Artemis', had received his twilight-blue eyes from her, perhaps the only physical resemblance between mother and son.

She maneuvered her spoon delicately into her mouth, eyes widening slightly at the strong mix of curry and ginger. Then a slow smile spread across her creamy complexion and Butler began to despair. "This really isn't that bad. Spicy, yet hardy. What do you think?"

Butler cleared his throat. His eyes had begun to water from the intoxicating mixture. "Excellent, Madame. Perhaps less curry next time?"

Angeline frowned to herself, and spooned more of the red-brown soup into her mouth. "No, I think more would be better. Maybe a pinch of paprika, even?"

Before Butler had to dignify that with a response, his watch buzzed against his wrist, vibrating annoyingly. Something had set off the alarm. Or rather, some_one._

"Excuse me, Madame," Butler said smoothly, folding his napkin and setting it next to the abandoned soup. "I need to see to the perimeter."

Angeline's frown deepened as she watched Buter duck into the hallway that would lead him to the front door. He certainly had been acting peculiar lately…

She shrugged, and returned to her soup. It was probably the lack of good cooking.

* * *

Being short and stupid is not a good combination.

R.C. Jones is the rare exception to that litany. No one that knew him would have ever expected him to be successful, to be sure. His mother had even pulled an exceptionally high life insurance at Gringotts out on him. Most would have placed him as the bartender at _The Leaky Cauldron _in ten years. They were _so _wrong.

Jones was, in fact, a reporter. The reportéd would probably call him more of a stalker then a reporter, but the principle was the same. Track down your person, and watch them squirm. The only difference was that in one you used a notepad to write things down in and in the other you used a notepad to write the victim's suicide note in. Jones was probably one of the few that could claim that his notepad boasted both by the time he was done with him.

He crept further along the hedge, flap-jack sized brain running through his instructions again. Get into Fowl Manor. Interview—in plainer words _harass—_Artemis' parents until his notebook was full. If possible, sniff out a scandal.

Jones stopped suddenly, blinking at the wide yew needles. Cornelius had specifically said sniff, but how was he supposed to do that when scandals didn't have a smell?

He supposed that they could smell like another woman's fragrance or a strange man in the household, but most were smarter then that.

It was in that stupefied pose that Butler grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him into the air.

"I didn do nutin'!" Jones squeaked, his limbs writhing.

Butler shook the five-foot man, watching bemusedly as a notebook, wand and quill fell from his hands. "Then what are you doing in the Grounds?"

Jones, had his neck not been caught in a painful pinch, would have shaken his head. "I'm reportin'!" he insisted, trying to twist around to see what his attacker was. "It's perfectly legal by the—the—that one law the Minister made!"

Butler shook the man again for good measure, and set him back down on the ground. No hostiles there. "Who sent you?" he demanded, lowering his voice and bending over. Angeline could not hear of this.

Jones' eyes flickered towards his wand, which Butler swiftly picked up before he could make a lunge for it. "_The Daily Prophet,_" he said, crossing his arms. Butler noted that he had the garb of a wizard on.

"I'll tell you what," Butler said at last.

"What?" Jones demanded, looking up at the man towering above him. He had a lot of experience with security guards. If you annoyed them enough they always set you free to harass another day.

Butler leaned forward and clenched Jones' head painfully between his huge hands. Not the normal security guard, then. "If you give me the address for… Hogwarts… I'll let you go. Deal?"

Jones could not help but laughing, which received another painful squeeze that petered the chuckles out to a squeal. "All owls know it!" he yelped, ink-splattered hands trying to pull Butler off him. His face had turned as blue as the night sky behind him. "Just ask any of them!"

Butler loosened his hold on Jones somewhat so he wouldn't pass out. "How would I get a message to him if I didn't have an owl?"

Jones almost laughed again. Almost. "If you don't have an owl, you're screwed," he informed Butler. His mouth wanted to add something to that, but his instinct for survival finally defeated his just plain stupid nature.

Butler looked off into the distance, eyebrows and lips alike pulled into a frown. After several moments, he released Jones. "Fine," he stated, "but if I see your face past my fences you won't be coming back out."

Jones nodded, clutching his neck when Butler let him go. "Thank you, sir. I won't be coming back again, sir."

Butler narrowed his eyes, watching as the man ran back into the shadows by the hedge. Filthy liar. He was just circling back.

Butler sighed inwardly, and picked up the handy notebook on the ground. A deft twist of the hand sent it spinning top over flapping papers. It hit him between the shoulder blades, felling him without a sound.

He jogged over to the groaning little wizard, scooping him up easily by the coattails. They ripped slightly, forcing Butler to sling the man over his shoulder. Apparently, they didn't make clothes any better at Diagon then they did in Ireland.

When he attained the gate he stopped, dropping the man heavily to the ground. By now he had reawakened, moaning over his undoubtedly heavily bruised back.

"Don't come back," Butler said, pushing the twitching body until it was outside the gates. "I'll know if you do."

Whatever response Jones had was lost as the gates of Fowl Manor slid shut behind him, humming with six amps and two-hundred volts of heart-stopping power. The tip of Jones' shoes was sliced cleanly off, it not being quite out of the way.

Butler watched to make sure Jones didn't try anything stupid for a few moments, then accelerated to a light jog back towards Fowl Manor. After finishing the horrid curry-beef soup, he would investigate that wand he confiscated, and perhaps watch where Jones went. He was very grateful to Artemis for supplying the minute tracking devices, even if they involved a certain amount of computer know-how.

* * *

I hope that y'all excuse the fact that I'm way behind in my editations. If it's anything I can't do, it's editing my own work.

Yes, this is a triple update to make up for the missed posting date last week, and a short chapter to boot. Just to make that crystal clear.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	21. Bar

Disclaimer:

However much I wish it so,

I cannot take, I cannot steal,

To greed I give a hearty _no!_

Since copyrights are _so _real.

Bad disclaimer, I know. Give my unpoetic mind a chance.

This particular chapter was done with Telpyvien's assistance, since I don't know what normal people do in the morning. All I do is eat, wash my face, brush my teeth, and I'm ready to go (I'm adamantly against all forms of cosmetics). Obviously not how Juliet would act.

Chapter Twenty: Bar

* * *

Mondays were never Juliet's favorite day of the week. The fact that Mary barged into her room at four in the morning only made it worse.

She sat up in bed, half-glaring at the bright-eyed Sue before her. "Now what?" she snapped, rubbing her eyes blearily.

Mary smiled brilliantly, flashing teeth that would have put Lockhart to shame. "First day on the job! Come on, we need to get there by five!" She pulled on Juliet's green comforter, causing Juliet's legs to curl beneath her at the onslaught of cold air.

Juliet reached forward and snagged the covers from Mary's hand, throwing them up over her head. She dully noted that Mary's eyes were an uninteresting shade of gray. "No," she muttered from the warmth of the blankets, wrapping them firmly around her so she wouldn't be able to be bared to the air again. "And besides, I don't have work to go to."

She could practically see Mary's frown as she tried to puzzle things said. "But I thought," Mary started slowly, her voice muted through the thick comforter, "that you wanted a job at _The Three Broomsticks. _I arranged an interview with the chief bartender and everything."

Nerve impulses sluggishly began to move in Juliet's mind, struggling to wake against natural morning lethargy. Memory was pulled from whiny neurons, slowly putting together memories of the last few days. Yes, she had said early on that she wanted a job as a waitress to support herself. That was her cover story so she could stay relatively close to Artemis, under the name of Alice.

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't been doing anything at all to support her pseudonym—in fact, Mary-Sue even called her Juliet. The deed said, very specifically in flourishing calligraphy, ­_Alice__ VanHartesveldt._

She was _so_ screwed.

Juliet leapt out of bed, eliciting a yelp from Mary-Sue as the comforter was thrown over her head. Two long paces brought her to the shared bathroom at the other side of the room, and the door slammed behind her.

The bathroom was one of the few rooms Juliet had conceded the right of color choice to Mary-Sue. Violet was the perfect color for it; pale shades of lavender, blue-ish periwinkle, bolder indigo. It had been painted, of course, by Juliet, who could reach the ceiling and higher reaches of the wall far better then the petite Mary, but her roommate had a talent for decorating. Everything was muted and soft, so very unlike the bright pink and greens of Juliet's room and the gold intermixed in Mary's.

Juliet wiggled her toes in the chenille indigo carpet, inspecting herself in the mirror. Her face seemed relatively good, although a bit greasy; she snagged a cotton swab, wetted it, and scrubbed her face vigorously. When she was done, her face practically glowed with enraged capillaries.

She was about to reach for her toothbrush when a small white case caught her eyes. It was completely unmarked except for a sweeping _V _on the cover. Curious, she opened the case.

Two small disks spilled out on the counter, violet-hued against the creamy yellow of the counter.

"Contacts?" she murmured, holding the slender circlets between her fingers. That would certainly explain the beautiful eyes that glimmered indigo, heliotrope or amethyst, depending on which light she stood in.

­_Honestly, _Juliet thought, reaching for her hairbrush, _basing the color scheme for half the house on vanity._

After a hundred strokes to each side, Mary-Sue pounded on the door. "Thirty minutes! Are you cooking breakfast or me?"

Juliet hastily dropped the brush and unlocked the door. She didn't want Mary-Sue cooking breakfast. After Butler's excellent food at Fowl Manor and the equally scrumptious meals at Ko's, Mary's burnt toast and soggy cereal certainly didn't appeal to her.

* * *

Martin 'Martini Joe' Johnson raised an eyebrow at the newest interviewee. She certainly was pretty enough, for being a young teen at five-thirty in the morning, and was well-muscled.

"What was your name again?" he asked, trying to keep as little air as possible from escaping his mouth.

"Alice VanHartesveldt," she said, fluttering her heavily mascara-ed eyes coquettishly, "but my friends call me Juliet."

The man nodded. Well, ­_Juliet_would do better not to know about the three bottles of brandy he had a few minutes ago. The fact he wasn't wearing any pants beneath the desk only solidified his resolve to get Juliet out of here faster.

He scribbled something down on his notepad, hoping it looked somewhat more professional then his Qadafi cut. "Where do you live?"

She hesitated, causing Martin's hopes to drop a bit. Being a barmaid meant you had to have great memory, and if this girl couldn't even remember her own address…

"Which one?" she asked, blinking sparkling violet eyes. "My home here, or my Uncle's?"

The hopes skyrocketed again. She wanted specifics. Barmaids couldn't just accept 'Ale, and make it quick!' The _what_s mattered very much in this particular field. Light, or Dark? Ice or no?

"The one here in Hogsmeade."

She nodded, blinking slowly. Martin was presented with a handsome view of the thick layer of mauve eye-shadow. "I live with Mary-Sue, the employee here that rec'd me. Whatever you have on file for her will work for me, too."

Martin blinked. She used words bigger then 'cocktail'. This was getting better by the moment. "'ave you done anything like this before?"

Juliet smiled openly, briefly causing Martin to be reminded of her apparent roommate. They seemed almost like sisters, unusual eyes and all. "I can cook better then most pros. Private lessons, even."

Martin grinned, sticking out a filthy hand. "Welcome to _The__ Three Broomsticks._"

* * *

Holly frowned, watching the slow oscillations of the tall beech trees around her. She appreciated day in a forest more then night—in these conditions, the foliage more then covered enough UV to make it safe for her and Trouble—but that certainly did not mean night was ugly. Far from it.

Every time the sun slipped beneath the uneven horizon, the stars came out. Holly had rarely been given the chance to simply lie down and watch the stars, since the time that she was aboveground generally involved trolls, goblins, or Artemis Fowl.

They were beautiful beyond belief, calling to the part of Holly's ancient spirit that wanted to wrest the surface from Mud Men. Holly knew they were little more then balls of burning gas, but still… They were beautiful.

She smiled, fingering her helmet comm. Should she call Trouble back? Root forwarded a message from Foaly, saying that he wanted detailed diagrams of Hogwarts so he could plan out how they were going to get their hands on Fowl.

_Na, _she thought to herself, tracing the exposed side of Sagittarius through the sky. _Trouble can take care of himself. If he couldn't, he wouldn't be doing this._

Another thought collided in her head, breaking her calm. Trouble had only gone because most of Recon and Retrieval were handling minor goblin troubles in the tunnels while he got stuck, as the leader of LEPRetrieval One, doing the paperwork. That left him in a convenient position for the Council to put together a strike team.

That had been one of the few things Holly understood about the Council's motives. After Retrieval's disastrous handling of Fowl Manor, they had told Root to put the teams in smaller squads, focusing more one stealth then strength. It had been a rare moment of military intelligence when they put out that order, something that a bunch of fattened bureaucrats could not possibly understand. Holly suspected Vinyáya, the LEP's representation on the Council, in that matter.

Her other hand reached out for the berry-bucket, groped around, then withdrew again with its catch of gooseberries. They were doing quite well here, as it turned out. Holly had even gained a little weight; her ribs didn't stick out anymore. Combined with the limited physical activity of walking twenty-or-so miles with no equipment, she suspected she might even have to cut down a bit on the snowdrop roots.

Holly's eyes raked the stars again. She could pick out Mud Men and Fairy constellations alike in the cloud of crystalline light, thanks to her multi-cultural training, and even a few of the Wizard's. They were all just variations of each other, when one thought about it. Sagittarius became Arcus became Savataur…

She blinked, popping a few more gooseberries into her mouth. The wind whistled through the golden canopies. It was a disturbing thought, thinking that they weren't all that different. Especially after going through all the trouble to make sure that their common roots were now nonexistent.

* * *

R. C. Jones staggered into his cluttered office, clutching his battered wand. He had been through Hell to get it back, and he had no intention of forking it over to the monster of a man again.

He shuddered, plopping down in his plush seat by the fireplace. As he soon as he sat down the fire blazed into life, warming his bruised limbs.

Jones realized his mistake too late, jumping back as fast as his battered body would allow. A spell was half-formed in his mouth when the fire flickered into a violet storm, darkness flickering at it center. After several minutes of crackling, a tentative voice asked, "Hello? Anybody there?"

Jones sat sullenly back down in his chair. "Yes, I'm here, Cornelius."

The pudgy face brightened up, and a head reached up through the fire to adjust the bowler hat. "Anything new on Fowl?" Although the Minister didn't openly support reporters like him, he sent money from his own hefty paycheck every so often to encourage articles on his selected targets. Jones set it aside as politics as usual, but sometimes he had his doubts.

Jones thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. The bodyguard threw me out before I could see anything." His face screwed up in frustration. "And he took my notebook."

Cornelius nodded, although he looked similarly frustrated. He knew, probably quite a bit better then Jones, how he couldn't remember anything if it wasn't written down. His address was scrawled on the inside of his arm. "Pity." He was silent for a moment, then asked cheerily, "But did he abuse you at all? Kick? Punch? Torture? Ele—Elca—Ecle—"

"Electrocute?" Jones provided, trying to redeem himself in Fudge's eyes. Although the Minister never showed outwardly how much he was disappointed, word always came 'round to his mother when the check didn't come. Always. And it hurt.

"Yes, yes, the very thing!" Cornelius beamed at Jones. "Well, did he?"

Jones shook his head. He was a regular supplier to _Witch Weekly_, yes, but he was not a liar. "No. I wasn't awake for most of it."

"Oh," Cornelius said, obviously disappointed. Then, by way of explanation, "No one's been able to get me anything on Fowl. Not even Skeeter."

Jones was impressed. Skeeter was the best in the field. No one ever found out how she got into the Louvre at night to interview the Mona Lisa—Wizards were proud to call DaVinci one of their own—and Jones doubted they ever would. Even magically-armed robbers had a hard time breaking into the Louvre.

"I'll try again," Jones offered, much to the outcry of his aching muscles. "I know the layout now, and how to avoid the half-giant guard."

Fudge smiled, and his head disappeared from the flames. "I'll remember that," his vaguely discombobulated voice said, and the flames receded to their normal hues.

He paused to reflect on how he came into a first-name basis friendship with the Minister. Cornelius discreetly asked undercover reporters to 'push' articles on selected characters, and since Fóle's brood Fowl was brought into the picture he had asked for him in particular—with no results. _The Daily Prophet _had to dig up previously tossed stories when half their reporters suddenly broke various limbs.

So Fudge had called him. Jones was not ashamed to say that he was an underdog, but the research he had done on the latest version of the Elf Shoes had revealed embezzlement within the _Loafin__' Around _casual wear company. Mother had baked him a cake that week for being such a good boy. He was a rising star.

Still, Fudge could be a pain at times. He had put a spell on Jones' fireplace so he could talk to Jones at any time, and an alarm spell to boot. He had figured out the radius of the alarm—two meters around his fireplace—but he forgot about it. A lot.

Sughing inwardly, Jones picked up a copy of _The Daily Prophet _from his desk. It was still hot. And had Artemis Fowl's scowling picture across the front.

"Damn!"

* * *

Sorry about how these three chapters are a bit short. It's harder to keep length in perspective when writing multiple chapters at the same time.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	22. Further Collisions

Disclaimer:

Silly me and silly you,

We got beat up and we got sue'd,

'cause Colfah didn like us much at all,

Since we stole his book that's out next fall.

Pathetic also. But hey! It's two in the morning, I'm trying to escape my parent's notice and I'm on a caffeine buzz! It's high time to get this massive update over with. I'm pretty much sick of making it up as I go.

Chapter Twenty-One – Further Collisions

* * *

Holly checked her moonometer. Granted, it _did _stop whenever she came out of the grove, but thanks to Foaly's technology it would automatically check itself against the US's Global Positioning Satellite system. The GPS was one of the few things Americans did right—that, according to Foaly, and their television shows.

Six thirty-six. Or, in Mud Men time, roughly ten. Trouble hadn't come back yet.

She frowned, picking herself up off the ground. Her knee ligaments groaned from the leap she had done yesterday from McGonagall's room, another testament to her frugal usage of magic. The only oak by a bend in a river was nearly twenty miles away, and up and down several large ridges. By the Book's definition it was barely a trickle, but Foaly had said it was fine. Granted, it _felt _like a thousand miles when they had walked it after the incident with the Whomping Willow, but the return trip had been wonderful. Nothing quite like running hot, even if one had to be careful with their magic.

Still, Trouble had said he'd start back as soon as the sun had fallen far enough down to not risk skin damage. That meant he should be back by now.

She mentally cursed herself, tossing the now-empty berry bucket into their hut. Pretty or no, she spent far too much star-gazing now-nights. If the mission kept going at this rate, she would have an eternity to stare at the stars at Howler's Peak when Artemis Fowl took over Haven with his new toys.

Holly checked herself, looking for any stray technology. Anything brought into the Hogwarts perimeter was dead weight, and could even break down entirely when they got too close to the 'intense anti-magical positive polarizing field', as Foaly has called it. Hand it to Foaly to make relatively concepts sound more complicated then an Apache verb conjugation table. What he undoubtedly mean to say was 'place where the Mud Men magic's too thick for our stuff to work'. Then again, with Foaly, who knew?

She scowled at her reflection in the stream as she passed it by. A bit earlier this evening she had answered Foaly's nightly transmission, and he had said that the Council was trying to pull her and Trouble from the job. Granted, she wouldn't mind reinforcements, but she wanted to be the one that wrung Artemis' scrawny neck. Not Ash or that idiot Lili…

Her scowl deepened into the sort the teacher sent her to the time-out corner for when she was ten. One of the idiots on the Council—Saffron, by the sound of it, or maybe Muscaria—had actually recommended Lili for the job. Lili, the moron that couldn't even hit the bullseye at point-blank range. Lili, the bimbo that put Grub to shame. Stupid, stupid Lili that got her test scores bumped because she was related to Frond. Frond hadn't even been that good of a monarch! He was the one who screwed up our relations with Wizards to begin with—Honestly, selling spare body parts for crackpot African voodoo artists?

Accelerating to a light jog, she faded into the woods. She had some Trouble to find.

* * *

Her concern, however understandable, was unneeded. Trouble was having fun.

Fun in the normal sense, even. Who said that risking life and limb was the idiot's polo?

Trouble was not an idiot, after all. Just… cocky. And plenty of people could be accused of that.

All the same, he was having a great time. Sneaking around bare meters from enemies certainly got the blood rushing, along with the difficulty of holding on to the creaking rafters without attracting attention. Plus, he had to put his mediocre mapping skills to use. The challenge was invigorating, and certainly more interesting then listening to Foaly blabber on about politics in the Council.

He yawned, carefully aiming his mouth so it didn't knock any dust into the corridor below. A scruffy cat looked up suspiciously, large pumpkin-orange eyes glowing with the dull light of the moon. Trouble held his breath for a few minutes, and the cat looked back down at the floor, prowling for mice and miscreants alike.

Trouble nearly smiled. That cat was so stupid. It was probably too used to Mud Men that could only hold their breath for around a minute apiece—and easy feat for Fairies. Granted, its hearing was undoubtedly more acute then his, but that didn't mean it knew how to properly use it. For Frond's sake, the cat had a brain half the size of his own!

His face steeled again, and he lightly jumped to the next rafter, deft fingers snagging a loose nail on the ceiling. His feet dangled dangerously close to the pine supports below. If he dropped down to fast, the air current would upset the dust and—

_D'Arvit__, Trouble, stop it, _he ordered himself, face breaking out into a sweat as a particularly sharp edge began to bite through his skin. _You're acting like a girlie. _

Letting his arm muscles relax, Trouble eased himself down onto the smooth gray surface.

It was a descent any four-year-old gymnast would be proud of, but, nonetheless, it created little disturbance in the thick dust below. A few molecules drifted down lazily, but Trouble's excellent eyesight failed to notice it.

_tap___

Trouble bent his knees, presenting the smallest silhouette as he could towards the sound. Footsteps. Damn cat! It alerted that janitor! Damn damn _damn_

He leaned towards the wall, fingers sliding along the curve of a knot. The nearest window was thirty feet away, too far to make in one jump… The janitor was smart. After it got done with the floor it would start on the rafters.

Putting all his weight onto the slight ledge, he neatly flicked his feet up into the air, catching the next rafter up. Dust spiraled down around him, but in the dark Trouble hoped that the notoriously poor vision of Mud Men would serve him.

_Tap Tap_

He blinked when he was fully hanging from the rafter. The next set of supports was gone, for one reason or another. He couldn't make the ten foot leap without revealing himself.

Trouble looked towards the source of the sound. A silhouette was slowly coming around the corner, crouching over as if it were it a bloodhound. He had ten seconds before it reached him at the most.

A slow grin spread across his face, and he stood up. If the janitor looked up, he was pretty much screwed. If not, he would have had his full share of adrenaline rush for the night. Either way, Holly was going to holler at him for being late.

_Tap Tap TAP_

An idea struck him just as he was getting ready to jump, and he threw his weight back. Five seconds down the drain as he tried to regain equilibrium. After rustling through his clothes for a few precious moments his hand came out, triumphant. It was only a spare bit of metal that had broken off his wing set during their jarring descent into the forest, kept in a pocket out of forgetfulness.

Without hesitation, he threw it past the approaching figure, and jumped.

There was nothing in his ears but the pounding of his blood as he leapt from one rafter to the next, trailing dust through the air. The stained-glass window gleamed with refracted moonlight, so close…

When he was ten feet from it he jumped, not even stopping to think that he was on the third floor. His body curled instinctually, shattering the entire window as he slammed into the delicate green-and-blue glass.

The ground rushed at him, barely giving him enough time to uncurl before he was rolling to his feet again. Regardless of Holly's warnings to save, his _mesmer_flickered on, making him only a shimmer that the raining glass happened to bounce off of.

When the pounding of his heart had subsided, he looked back. Silhouetted in the increasingly smaller window was the cursing janitor, shaking his fist at him. He looked angry for a very good reason.

Even as he sprinted into the dark woods of the Forbidden Forest, Trouble only found him thankful of one thing; Holly would never have to see that stunt of his. She would have had his head on a silver platter.

* * *

Artemis was, yet again, without anything to do. The hallways hardly provided adequate silence to think in, especially with these idiot students rushing off to lunch. There was no real hurry, either; Dumbledore always let lunch appear at exactly 12:05, and he had to be late or whoever that disappointingly uncreative poisoner would give his food a reputation that could count itself amongst any Yucca Mountain refuse.

He let his measured pace slow, easily stepping to the side before Draco could give him the kick in the derrière he had promised him during Herbology.

Artemis allowed himself the luxury of a grin, which was fortunately not noticed by passing students. Draco had been stupid enough to believe him when he said that the bite of a Mandrake would cure his acne problem. Cruel, yes, but Artemis was growing increasingly bored with his classes. Not all of them provided a _The Calling_-friendly environment.

Soon he was the only one in the hallway, although his own steps were lost amongst the tireless echoes of others'. Through the window he could see the burning of autumn begin, turning oaks and maples alike into roughly the hue of flames. This was only accented by the crisp blue sky of mid-September; not cloudless, but as close as most ever see. It was hard to believe he had already been through three weeks of this, however uninteresting the classes were. It was probably due to his extensive thinking through the cold hours of the night.

A glint of metal caught Artemis' eyes, and he picked up his pace again. There, leaning up against the wall, was a twisted piece of platinum.

Or titanium, more likely. Nimble white fingers picked it up, cradling it close to his eyes. It was People-make, without a doubt. He didn't even need the reassurance of Gnommish hieroglyphics for that. No human could forge titanium that thin and still have it stronger then a three-feet-across iron I-beam.

He smiled to himself again, and dropped the small chunk of metal into his only slightly worn black-leather bookbag. It was nice to know that, when the silence was deep enough to think in, he would have all these lovely mysteries to ponder. _The Calling _was a perfect preservation of the thoughts at the twilight of the Wizard-Fairy relationships. It had lain dormant for the last thousand years, but Fairies muddling with Hogwarts would certainly stir things up a bit.

Artemis didn't have any regrets at all for being the possible cause of the next interspecies war—he was only glad that he was going to be at the epicenter.

* * *

Hermione glared across the top of her book. Despite being of the somewhat petite frame she was, she still managed it—not an easy feat, considering the true object of her scowl happened to be on the other side of the Hufflepuff table.

One hand shoved a piece of toast into her mouth and her jaw muscles chewed on it vigorously, but her eyes never left the blank spot at Ravenclaw.

An elbow in the ribs broke the line of contact. Eyes watering slightly, she turned towards Harry. "What?"

Harry looked pointedly at the books Hermione was conspicuously sitting on. "Why are you watching Fowl again?"

Ron piped in, his mouth half-full of a turkey sandwich. "Why don't you just ask him out?"

Hermione's face slowly drained of color as she looked across Harry towards Ron. "How _dare _you imply that!" she seethed, face taut with anger. "That _thing _is the most despicable person at Hogwarts!"

Harry blinked. The headache medicine Madame Pomfrey had him take had to be getting to him. "What'd he ever do to you?'

Hermione resumed glaring at the empty spot in the bench. "Only acted like an arrogant dolt."

"So? Lockhart's like that every day and you don't complain."

Hermione managed to control her flickering eyes this time. "I shall not grace that with a response," she stated resolutely. The newly spread raspberry toast crumbled in her hands; she'd have to wash hre hands before touching the transfiguration book again.

Ron sniggered, but resumed eating animatedly. Harry, shaking his head, continued as well.

Hermione's eyes caught movement by the main doors to the Great Hall; Fowl. His pace quickened somewhat when he saw that the food was already out.

A frown creased her brow. He had been late to every meal so far with no excuses. She couldn't figure out why, but it had to be something foul.

She almost smiled. Bad pun. Her mind may not be the most creative one, but it certainly could generate odd things on occasion. Usually, it was related to the current source of idiocy in her life.

* * *

**smiles weakly** What can I say? I'm on a joint sugar-caffeine buzz.

A thousand apologies. I've only fixed up to chapter three so far.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	23. Enter Politics

Disclaimer: No more crappy poems. The majority of the characters are completely Colfer or Rowling's, although the blend is all mine. Honestly.

Chapter Twenty-two: Enter Politics

* * *

The next morning, Hermione found a particularly grumpy Artemis staring at her.

Not the real thing, of course. Had that been the case, Hermione would have taken the opportunity presented and given him a piece of her mind and a slap to go. The real thing was, as always, exactly two minutes late.

It was a picture, not even moving; obviously taken by a Muggle camera. The lines were blurred, the angles of his cheeks almost highlighted by poor photography, but he was there.

The headline seemed almost friendly compared with the paralytic scowl: **_FOWL THINGS AFOOT AT HOGWARTS_**. Beneath the headline was an article, written by whoever signed their pieces with a signature approaching Egyptian hieroglyphics.

"Today, we sleep in our homes, tucked into the safety of our beds. Many of us have children, also sleeping in either Hogwarts or abroad. But are they safe? Dumbledore has unleashed what could become a disaster at Hogwarts—the newest in a long line of criminals.

We all know the tale behind Hugo de Fóle. It is a nightmare that haunted Wizards and creatures alike for nearly a hundred years before disappearing into the depths of Azkaban, bringing with him the end of the golden age of his family.

Or not, as it later turned out. Unknown to our investigators at the time, his wife was two months pregnant with a child—enough to escape our notice, although, as Ministry officials grudgingly admit, they shouldn't have given her Fóle's estate to begin with. The child from this would continue the Fowl dynasty, although, fortunately, without knowledge of magic. Four-hundred years later, the Fowl family collided with our world again, but, fortunately, several well-placed _Obliviate_s by Ministry officials managed to subdue that particular venture."

Hermione blinked at the photograph, trying to catch the background. It was too blurred, however—all she could make out was the vague shape of a Corinthian column behind him, and a whole lot of white marble. Mind spinning, she continued.

"Not two weeks ago, however, I managed to infiltrate their literal castle outside of Dublin, Ireland, and interview the matriarch of this ancient family.

I didn't like her as soon we shook hands, and the fact that she ordered her eunuch, 'Butler', around as if he was a House Elf did not improve my opinion of her at all. Angeline Fowl, as she called herself, was the widowed mother of Artemis Fowl. The husband of this lady is presumed dead, lost in an ambush in Russia, and was once a prominent Muggle criminal himself.

However, Madame Fowl was sparing with facts. It was obvious that her luxurious home held many secrets; the eunuch trailed behind my every step, or jogged ahead to shut guilty doorways. Whenever I came close to uncovering something she changed the subject, usually to the innocent culinary genre.

Nevertheless, it was obvious Angeline was proud of her son, if for all the wrong reasons. "He's such a wonderful little boy," she stated at one point. "Takes after his father in many ways. Most ways, actually."

I wondered what ways she was talking about; his renowned intelligence, or the fevered drive for gold.

As we entered into the living room, the first thing I noticed was the gilded letters inlaid across the top of the doorframe; _Aurum Est Protestes_. For those not majoring in Latin studies, it translates as, 'Gold is power' – a fitting motto for the power-hungry family.

When I questioned Angeline about this, she gave me a crocodile-like smile. 'No, I'm not proud of that motto. We've been trying to turn ourselves around for a while now, but, ah…" She trailed off here, and then launched into a detailed discussion about the culinary value of mint and rosemary.

It is painfully obvious that she was lying. She made no attempts to squelch either Artemis' criminal behavior; undoubtedly, the legitimate, if fatal, mission to Russia was a fluke. It cannot be doubted that she is every much an accomplice as the shadowy Butler in their frequent crimes, and that her son will follow in these steps.

But has he done so already? Interpol, an (unsuccessful) Muggle police agency, has been trying to crack the Fowl family for years. They have failed, but have also been able to accumulate innumerable failed cases against them, ranging from petty forgery to the classic let's-run-into-a-bank-and-start-shooting. In the recent years since Artemis Senior's death, this number has spiked sharply upward, as well as their bank accounts. Considering they have almost no sources of income other then Junior's patents, it is a dubious account indeed.

And this Artemis Fowl, considered the most promising young man in a century by many Muggle accounts, has entered our world, bringing with him the legacy of the Fowl family. Will he become a criminal worst then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself?

By all psychological accounts, yes. I talked to _The Daily Prophet _psychology consultant Kyra Whitman. 'Children tend to resemble their parents,' she said, 'and Artemis Fowl will be no exception. Criminality is in his blood.'

No parent wants the future He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named growing up with their children. But by all accounts, Dumbledore, who directly disobeyed the Minister's order, is not about to let down from his view of letting all eligible children into Hogwarts. Artemis Fowl the Second will stay at Hogwarts until extreme action is taken by the Ministry. **_Continued at C-8_**"

Hermione tore her eyes from the paper, and shoved the paper beneath Ron's nose. "Can you _believe _this?" she seethed, waiting impatiently for Ron to skim the article.

Ron shrugged, and pushed the newspaper aside. "So?" he mumbled, his mouth full of cereal. "Fowl got what's coming to him."

Hermione glared at Ron, wondering how he could be so _stupid_. Granted, some leeway had to be given considering he was a boy, but _still…_

But no matter. Ron would be Ron—insensitive, annoying, leech-like—but Artemis was not Artemis. She rarely paid much attention to propaganda like this, especially where it was so clearly aimed at deflating someone rather then explaining, but this was… odd. Why would _The Daily Prophet _put something like that there? They held a reputation for accuracy so far, and for relatively unbiased facts, leaving little tidbits and rumors to _Witch Weekly_.

Harry leaned across from his croissant, mouth fortunately through with chewing. "Fowl's in the newspaper?" he asked, dumbfounded.

Hermione could have screamed at him. "Yes," she snapped, folding it up crisply and applying herself to her toast.

Harry shrugged, nursing his milk. "Why on Earth is the Ministry interested in him?"

Hermione looked across at Artemis. The almost familiar frown lines were beginning to crease his brow.

"No idea," she said airily, and slipped the newspaper into her book-bag. She would deal with it later.

* * *

Jones rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them desperately. Fudge had lied. Of course he had lied; he was a politician. Still, he thought he could have trusted him…

He had read the article on Fowl countless times, trying to identify its maker. It wasn't Skeeter, even though it had her Sanskrit-like signature on it, and Skeeter liked to do her own work and research. Obviously, it had been put together by someone else.

Jones looked longingly at the empty Bailey's bottle on the table, wishing that it would fill itself. He felt too smart now, and the feeling was unnerving. Besides, last time he had acted with any amount of intelligent his mother made a big deal about it, which was not a good thing in Jones' dictionaire de culturaille.

He sighed, and picked himself up out of the (real) Victorian armchair. He would deal with it when he got home. Fudge probably wouldn't be paying him this week, and his mother required an explanation before the frypan came down. A dent in the head wouldn't look good for the interviews.

* * *

"Ju-lius!"

The pen in Root's hand gouged a hole in the reputedly scratch-proof desk, ripping through five millimeters of paperwork. It took him several minutes for his blood to cool down enough to respond. "What?"

Foaly trotted into his office, a big grin plastered on his vaguely equestrian face. "Guess what?"

Root grumbled something indistinct deep within his throat, and continued resolutely with the ruined paperwork. It wasn't everyday he did this; ever since being promoted centuries ago he never got to go out on the job again. Paperwork had become Public Enemy Number One, the Public being Root because that was all he was considered worth his time.

Foaly continued, regardless of deep-rooted hatreds. "Holly's on, and she's got something to tell you."

The pen fell forward in tandem with the chair. "What?! It's early!"

Foaly's grin widened when crimson became magenta; shade five to six and the shift had barely started. "I know."

The indistinct noise continued as Root rose in his desk, potbelly jiggling slightly from the movement. Foaly mentally reminded himself to hack into the budgeting program and slash the lunch allowances.

"No need to move, _gordita_," Foaly said, still grinning. He was thankful that Root's gift of tongues didn't work that well in the morning, along with the rest of him.

Root's lips moved as he translated. "Little—man? No, that can't be right…"

Foaly waved a hand flippantly before Root could figure it out. He must have had his caffeine this morning if he could translate that closely. "Never mind. Press the button on your far r—no, the a bit more over—"

Root finally pressed the right button, reaching with his other hand beneath his desk for a Ra-Bar ('Be as bright as the sun!'). A large projection of the _Friends _cast appeared on the far wall, which Foaly quickly changed with a click of a remote. Holly's face became visible, blue sparks practically flying off of her. She was, not in the Mud Man sense, hot.

"Commander?" she asked tentatively, tapping her helmet's remote in front of her. In the background, Trouble gave her bunny ears.

"Report!" he barked, his words garbled by the Ra-Bar half-in, half-out of his face.

Holly looked back at Trouble, who dropped his hand innocently at his side. After he shrugged, she turned back to the helmet and continued. "Trouble's got the map done."

Root glared at Foaly, who had trotted back to examine the unused calendar from '90 hanging behind his head. "_This _is what you wanted me to hear?!"

Back on the screen, Holly licked her lips nervously. The log she was sitting on jittered slightly as she shifted position. "No, but I wanted to give you the good news first."

The temperature in the room reached the boiling point. Foaly was glad that he was born a Centaur and not a Mud Man. "What's the bad news?"

The lips were rewetted. "The Ministry's getting involved through the media."

His heart skipped a beat. "Muggle or Wizard?"

"Both," Foaly cut in easily.

There was a slight popping sound as a dozen capillaries in Root's body all burst at once.

"Foaly!" Holly scolded furiously, her face hidden by a hand. In the background, Trouble was doubled over.

Root cooled down from sunset-indigo slowly, heartbeat coming down to the above-normal pace. Had he been intimate enough with anyone to allow someone to get that close to his chest, they would have heard a sound like the roaring of a diesel motor. "Muggle or Wizard?" he repeated, his voice high and strained like a badly played violin.

"Wizard," Trouble said from behind Holly. He had said the word fast in-between gasps; he was still struggling to withhold his laughter. It wasn't everyday he was far enough away from Root to avoid retribution.

Root glared at Trouble, taking another bite from the Ra-Bar. Damn youngsters. Thought that old folks couldn't do nothing. "What's the range of the paper?"

Holly sobered up quickly. "Worldwide, sir."

"Already delivered?"

Holly nodded miserably. He distantly noted that her buzz cut was growing out into a small aphro. "Saw it this morning when we did our morning sweep. More then twelve-hundred people in Hogwarts alone."

Root's head dropped into his hands, which began massaging his temples in an all-too-well-known pattern. "Foaly, get the Council up."

Foaly hesitated. "What should Holly do?"

Root's head shot up. "What's the status on Fowl?"

"Nothing really, sir. He still had _The Calling_, but otherwise he hasn't really done much."

Trouble piped up again from the background. "Someone's trying to poison him."

There was a sharp _thud _followed by a throated groan, not dissimilar to the sort made by people that have been elbowed violently in the ribs.

Root pretended like he hadn't seen that. "What's this about poisoning, Short?"

Holly gulped. "To be honest sir… I—_we_ don't know. All we've really done is put two and two together."

Root looked at Trouble, who hid behind Holly. He seemed more willing to part with the facts today. "This true?"

Trouble nodded miserably.

Root sighed again, letting his head sink into his balled fists. "Has he made any threats relating to the People lately?"

"Negative, sir."

He made a decision. One that he would later regret. "Get him to base, Captain. Him and that little servant of his, too."

"Which one, sir? The big one or the small one?"

Root's eyes peaked between his fists. "Does it matter?"

Trouble and Holly nodded in unison. It was quite a difference to them.

He sighed, and sunk further into his own self-pitying. "Whichever one's more convenient. Just get them to base; Foaly'll arrange transport."

Foaly looked about ready to argue, then stopped. He may be one of the People, but he liked the idea of things getting stirred up. Dumbledore would not pleased when one of his students went missing, criminal prodigy or no.

* * *

Confusing, no?

Update times have been changed to Saturday's, since I can't cope otherwise. Today was an exception, as Varsity X-Country and social obligations will keep me away from computers for quite a while. Don't tell me that I don't have the right to be a freshman on Varsity and a friend of Mithostwen.

So you don't whine about my update times, here's my schedule;

After High School (Straught AP classes), there's Varsity X-Country 'til five-thirty. Tuesdays have flute lessons from six to six-thirty, with twenty minute driving each way. Thursdays have karate from six-thirty 'til eight, with twenty minute driving each way. Meets on Wednesday until seven; meets on Saturday 'til noon or later (Getting up from four to five). Science Olympiad studying is something I try to do thirty minutes a day; I'm going for the long-awaited flush of first places at State in my respective events (Fossils, Forestry, Dynamic Planet, Meteorology, Process Skills for Life Science, hopefully Reach for the Stars, and the build-event Awesome Aquifer). Also, I'm readying two novel-length serious stories for publication, perfecting the twenty-seven languages of my invented universe, working on other original stories, trying to finish five 200,000 _Artemis Fowl _fanfics for posting, two _The Lord of the Rings_, three for _The Silmarillion, _one for Discworld, and beta-ing a story for my friend Telpyvien. Also, I may be starting fencing with Telpyvien on Monday nights from seven to nine.

Don't complain. This is hard enough as it is.

Critiques are more then welcome, for all my grousing. I'm still trying to switch from my norm. Angst!mode to Pratchett!mode, even though most of my stuff looks like Hemmingway with better descriptions.

Bugger off before my head explodes.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	24. Trial

Disclaimer: Pretty much, I'm a criminal for writing this little fanfiction. On the other hand, I'm not getting paid…

Chapter Twenty-three – Trial…

* * *

Transfiguration seemed to take especially long today. Maybe it was the fact Hermione was staring a hole through the back of his head.

Unlikely, considering what he had just read. He hadn't put a lot of thought into the Wizarding media – he had assumed that, because it was undoubtedly under the same affect as the rest of the literary conquests, he would be relatively safe. Apparently not.

He clenched his fists tighter around the quill, nails biting into his skin. The… the… the _impudence _of it! Lies, all of it… It seemed more fiction then reality, but, nonetheless, people around the world would read that newspaper, look at him and think _Criminal._

Artemis was used to being considered that. He had to be, or his ego would collapse in on itself. The problem was that he hadn't done anything to deserve it yet. They were already put on _red alert_ for criminal actions.

Perfect teeth grit together, and he forced himself to look at the board McGonagall was writing on. Some people already had an idea how thick he was into this world already; far short of the mark, but they could guess. Most, like Hermione or Draco, already knew his family were notorious Muggle criminals and had once been the Voldemort of their time. They had been on their guard, but they still would not be able to get anywhere close…

But now they'd all know. They would know a series of concoctions, created by a master alchemist in his—or her?—lab. He could only be thankful that Juliet had not been mentioned—

His hand jerked up from the parchment he was writing notes on, creating a large ink splotch on the paper and on his robes. Juliet. They still didn't know about her.

He had had no communication with her yet, but someone in Ravenclaw had mentioned that their cousin had a new roommate. Blondie was obviously with her. She was safe, and hopefully with some degree of caution.

Still… Juliet was Juliet. Fresh from Ko's academy after the first incident. Cared more about her looks then about her lethal weapons. Prone to be annoyingly social. One could only expect so much from her, especially as immature as she was now.

Hermione wordless passed him a handkerchief from behind him. She had given up the front row after she realized she could stare at him without attracting as much suspicion from the back. An odd move from such a school-obsessive person, but an interesting one nonetheless.

Artemis was no longer certain about how to deal with her. He was convinced she somehow found out about the Fairies—the funny looks she had been giving McGonagall lately were a clue, in addition to the increasingly curious ones he had been receiving. She may only be book-smart, but she had logic. Logic was a rare commodity amongst people, especially teens.

"…and remember, the essay on Theremon's Formula is due next week. Dismissed."

Artemis mechanically rose, stuffing his ink-splattered parchment into his bag. Routine already. If he could ace the quizzes _and _still have time to think, this really was a waste of time. The only challenge was taking time away from research to do the homework.

* * *

Holly carefully looked around the corner, then withdrew her head quickly. She was still running hot; she, unlike Trouble, was cautious when it was her turn to go around Hogwarts. Being hot felt good. Better then it did with Mud Maids.

She ordered her breaths to slow, deepening them until they had become half-calm again. She hated doing these. Especially when the goal was as elusive as this.

The Council wanted Fowl. So? They always had. Pride is an easily wounded beast. The difference in this was that _Root _wanted Fowl—if Root wanted Fowl, there was more then just politics on the line. Her job, for example.

True, the whole reason why they were following Fowl out to Hogwarts was to originally kidnap. The Council had turned it into so much more; make sure Dumbledore wasn't meddling with Fairy business, make sure Fowl didn't kidnap anyone, map out Hogwarts again, keep an eye on the Ministry…

Holly decided this was what it meant to be a mother. So much to do, obnoxious, minute beings hounding at your heels, and a whole lot of sweeping up to do. And an extremely annoying male screwing everything up all the time. Which one was dependant on the current frame of mind.

At the moment it was Trouble. He was rightly named; he caused trouble wherever he went, even on such a stupid, no-brainer mission like the last. All he had to do was:

A) Keep out of sight,

B) write legibly, and

C) try to stop looking for trouble in the first place.

He failed all three. The map was horrendous, although he had to be commended for his spelling of _Mak__-Gone-a-gal_ in genuine English. One of the more apparent reasons why Trouble went into Retrieval was because he needed like-minded males to be able to read his handwriting. Holly was not a like-minded male. Holly was a very annoyed female. No matter what some said to the contrary, there was a difference.

Holly shook her head minutely, trying to grip a grip on her thoughts. Why in Frond's name was she thinking about Trouble? Sure he was gung-ho, but it was the stupid gung-ho that came with ignorance.

_There I go again,_ she scolded herself. _Too much time away from Root and my discipline goes to the swear-toads_.

She swore under her breath, her shield sliding up like rain on a window. Filch was approaching, and fast. From what she had managed to pull from Trouble he had snuck right past him; that would put quite a dent in the Mud Madman's ego. He was probably trying to fix that with a good ol' fashioned whipping, new rules or no.

Holly shuddered, pressing herself further against the wall. Filch got closer and closer. His breath was hot and humid, smelling distinctly of very Muggle potato chips.

Holly was about ready to puke.

She really should have counted herself fortunate that the cat wasn't there. She would have been discovered ten seconds sooner.

She hiccupped.

Filch spun around, drab arms spinning out towards the sound. By sheer luck it managed to connect with the half-sprinting Holly, grimy digits wrapping around what precious little hair she had and yanking.

He must have been expecting a stealth-cloak like the one Artemis had – he pulled upwards, loosing his grasp on the sweat-soaked auburn hair. Holly stiffened her fingers and jabbed upwards, hitting what she honestly hoped to be his stomach.

Filch staggered backwards, cursing vulgarly not so much beneath his breath as without it. Holly fought with a street fighter's instinct; knock 'im down so they never rise again. Minute hands went for his relaxed belly and neck, twisting and pressing where need be. It all came rushing back to her, sweeping away the (somewhat) cool Holly that was worrying about her lack of discipline.

When she was younger, much younger, she had deigned the girls in her class to wimpy and played with the boys. She was five. No one made a big fuss out of it; they, including her somewhat eccentric parents, had figured this a phase that would pass.

It didn't. She played with the boys until tag became gangs that wandered around causing, one could say, 'trouble'.

She wasn't proud of those days. Yet, in an ironic quirk, those days had taught her more about life then anything else. Including that fateful meeting with Artemis Fowl.

The first lesson she had learned was to cut the joints. That would keep them out for a long time if they were properly hit. Holly made sure they were.

Her mentor in the Formorii gang would have even said she went a little overboard. Filch got knocked out pretty quickly.

She stood back, chest heaving. She didn't often let that side out of her, and for good reason. Filch wouldn't be waking up until he heard the nightmarish tidal wave of students approaching for breakfast.

When her breathing had calmed down again, she dragged Filch into an alcove, propping up his head with his patched wool jacket. His eyelids were fluttering. Holly wondered what sort of nightmare he was having.

She gave a little sigh, and began trotting down the corridor. Well, she and Trouble were even now. She inwardly vowed to make a deal with him somehow about the Filch Incidents. Root simply could not catch word of this.

* * *

Artemis was, as usual, staying up. As some anonymous, probably obscenely optimistic person had once said, 'There is time enough for rest in the grave'.

Granted, his eyes were probably disinclined to agree with that at the moment. Even after a week of adjusting his sleeping patterns they simply could not adjust to the five-hour nights, then the half-on half-off mode he went into in some of the more boring classes. Midnight Astronomy classes just muddled his medulla more. Sometimes he just felt like strangling his organs for not following a perfectly logical plan. He didn't only because of the grievous consequences that would follow.

He ordered his eyes to focus on the page before him. _The Calling _wasn't making anything better; the pictures still trotted, swam, or flew across the page in colorful patterns that muddled the spider-like text even more. Had he not placed a Silencing Charm on it, the dwarfs on page thirty-eight would have broken into the Sulfur Song again, and he did not want that to happen. He heard enough vulgar songs just listening to Spader, Jack and Chance everyday, even if they would help him understand the unusually stereotypic culture of Fairy Dwarfs.

Artemis sighed, and closed the book with a solid thud. The thin, near-silent _…and that's what sulfur does to me! _became little more then a really bad memory.

He leaned over, murmuring the opening spell along with intricate hand-gestures. The chest at the bed-side glowed slightly in response. A small silver key was inserted into the lock, and the lid opened. _The Calling _was slipped into the uppermost of the bags; his book-bag for tomorrow. He switched every few days to shake off residue magic and stains from nearby students. They tended to point their wands the wrong way on some of the more destructive spells.

The curtains were half-shut when a minute hand slid into the opening, then another as the crack was widened. Holly's grinning face appeared in riven curtains.

"Nighty-night," she said cheerily.

The last thing he saw for a long time was a small, petite fist cracking his nose solidly.

* * *

Chance was not stupid. It was hard to be so if you traveled so much, as many children of divorced children do. Different places opened different parts of the mind, letting thoughts stray to places where parents generally did not like them to go.

He liked to stay up. It was one of his many quirks. Staying up meant you were cool, in the Muggle world. If you went to bed at eight, you were promptly labeled a geek, and a stupid one for telling someone that. Three in the morning meant you must be doing powerful, important things. Chance privately associated this thought with the opposite gender, but he stayed up anyways, despite a certain lack of a girlfriend.

Chance was musing on the stupidity of his parents—why on Earth had they named him Chester? Why, O _WHY?!—_when the crack woke him up.

He was familiar with the sound of cracking bone. Once you were the one getting trampled by a horse, it's hard to forget what each not-so-funny bone sounds like as the iron-shod equestrian rider crushes you underhoof.

It sounded like a nose.

His covers were thrown off as he bolted upright in bed, _Astérix_pajamas bright in the gloom of night. Just because he liked the idea of being cool didn't mean he was going to get rid of blankie and le Gaul.

_Please let it be a dream, _he prayed inwardly, _please let it _not _be Spader beating up on Jack…_

The curtains were tossed back, only more swirling black in the ebony room. Here and there lighter blobs of deep indigo met his eyes where fellow students in the dormitory had left the curtains wide open. They were few and far between.

He was about to sigh in melodramatic relief when a thought sparked in his eyes. Artemis never left his curtain open, except for a small crack at the end to allow air circulation. His was all the way open, and the bed was untouched.

Chance knew from late-night stays that Artemis liked to read. He didn't particularly care what; if he asked, he'd probably get an obscenely long and complex answer in Latin. He also knew that Artemis kept his bed neat until the last moment.

The bed was too messy. The end was ruffled up, and the sheets were pulled in the general direction of the window.

Chance padded on over, footsteps light and tentative across the glacier-cold flagstones. He wished for the thousandth time that Flitwick would stop using money for Ravenclaw to fund his Charms class to get carpet installed.

The window was wide open. Below, lightly shimmering in the icy night wind, was the rolling emerald grass of the Grounds.

Chance swallowed the vomit at the back of his throat and backed away from the window. Artemis' broken and mangled body wasn't at the bottom. Nor was he screaming for help on the sill.

"_Damn_…" he whispered fervently, staring through the window a safe distance away. Artemis Fowl had finally cracked.

Pity. He always managed to wipe that smirk off of Spader's face when they goaded him into playing Hearts.

Mumbling about dem crazy genii, he clambered into bed and pulled the curtains shut tightly. Very tightly.

* * *

I'm trying to get the plots rolling. Hopefully, I'll have this monster-of-a-story done next January. April at the latest.

'the very evil daughter of lord voldemort' brought up an excellent point in her review. No, I have not read _The Seventh Dwarf_. My parents thought it stupid to order a book all the way from Europe when it was probably going to published in the US in paperback in, oh, a year or so. scowls Sorry if I miss any canonical points mentioned in that, in any case.

Editations going, as always, poorly. _S'il__ vous plait_, don't hurt me.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	25. And Error

Disclaimer: Colfer and Rowling are well beyond my current span of patents, which consists of absolutely nothing. Got it?

_My rabid readers, I give you: A Cliffy! (Sort-of)_

Chapter Twenty-Four: …and Error

* * *

Artemis awoke to a steady prodding at his side. It hurt. A lot.

"It's not even light yet, Chance," he mumbled, still half in the familiar routine of school life. "Go back to bed."

There was a very un-Chance-like snicker. "Ickle Artykins awake? Too bad this isn't a bed of roses you're sleeping on."

His eyelids shot open, trying to focus in on his surroundings. He knew that voice.

Still, he could only managed a choked-off groan as his headache began to pound unceasingly at his temples. Yes, he knew that voice. It had spoken exactly two words last night which were most definitely not the sort found in a lullaby. At least, not in that tone of voice.

As his eyes cleared, he could see a figure moving of to his right. Judging by the certain stiffness to his back, he was probably on the ground. "Ooh, does Arty need an Advil? Has the little boogeyman gotten to him?"

He managed his custom smirk. "Have you been taking up babysitting lately, by any chance?"

A fist solidly connected with his jaw. His vision blurred with the unexpected pain. No crack, fortunately, which would have been bad. If his memory served correctly, it had already been broken once tonight. "If you're just an oversized infant, then yes."

Artemis raised his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes. Holly did not stop him, fortunately, nor did she resist as he brought his back up in a more-or-less standard sitting position. He thought about a particularly witty reply to that last remark, then decided against it. There was probably a point even Fairy magic couldn't bring him back from. "Where am I?"

He mentally cursed himself as Holly laughed, spreading her arms out to indicate the beshadowed forest. "Where does it look like, _kimosabe_? London? Paris?"

Artemis sighed, rubbing his forehead. Forbidden Forest, no doubt, and probably quite a ways in. "I had that one coming. Where are you taking me?"

Her grin widened as she stood up, green jumpsuit crinkling slightly. "Every single story in history had that one, moron. You think I'll honestly tell you?"

"Yes," he replied, "actually, I was."

Holly laughed again, relishing the moment. She had been nursing her wounded pride for a year; she planned on enjoying this. Immensely. "Thought I'd be _that _stupid, Mud Boy? Has ickle Artykins underestimated me again?"

He sighed, standing up. Despite his somewhat boyish frame, he managed to tower over the petite Recon agent. "No, I haven't."

Holly's eyes only had time to widen before he pushed her into the shrubs on the other side of the clearing. He selected a stick from the ground, and walloped it against a nearby tree. Not very hard, as Artemis could hardly be considered for the Olympics, but enough to prove it strong. When Holly stumbled back out of bushes, he snapped the stick cleanly over her head.

She stood, dazed, for several long moments. Then, in almost cartoon-like slowness, her knees folded beneath her and let her kiss the leaf-covered ground.

Artemis blinked, and stared at the stick. That had, in all, taken about three seconds. And he hadn't even thought about it. Just… acted. Proved that he was less dependant on Juliet, in any case.

With a slight sigh, he bent down besides Holly. With the aid of waxing moon he was able to see the blood trickling down from her forehead, and the sparks flowing tentatively towards the wound hidden beneath a rough auburn buzz cut. Her angular face was cast in shadows, high cheekbones sharp against the muted blend of leaves in the background.

He hesitated before the front zipper of her jumpsuit. She would be waking soon; Fairies had fairly thick heads in more then one sense. Besides, taking what little self-defense she had in the Forest, where Salazar had once roamed and the centaurs were even more paranoid then the Lower Elements sort? Despite all criminal intentions, he did not want the People seeking out another reason to kill him. That should occur once he had the proper defense created.

His fingers closed around the pull, and drew down five inches before stopping. Around her neck was the golden glint of the Book, and an empty sphere.

He examined the sphere first, saving the best for last. There seemed to be some residual dirt in it—had Holly been keeping spare acorns in it? That would explain how she performed the Ritual so quickly…

He dropped the sphere back onto her heaving chest, and picked up the Book. For all conventional purpose, it was an exact copy of the one that had disappeared from the portrait several months ago. Smiling slightly, he took it, slipping the glinting gold chain around his neck. It stood out against the deep ebony of his silk pajamas.

But what else did Holly have? She was not stupid, although he could think of a specific encounter where she had acted just so. She would not wander around weaponless in Dumbledore's backyard.

Or would she? She had that strain of cockiness, as all Fairies seem to have. Furthermore, that idiot Trouble was with her as well. Bad habits have an odd trait of spreading for their own survival.

Artemis lifted one of her hands up, and stripped the green gloves off. Aiming the fingers carefully away from himself, he squeezed a joint.

The pressurized dart made no sound except for the final quiver in the maple bark.

Smiling again, he pressed every digit, and then switched to the other hand. Four darts in all. Again thanking Foaly for making top-secret prototypes so easy to find on his site, he slipped the gloves carefully on again, and walked to the other side of the clearing. After tugging on the darts, he eventually pulled them all out from the groaning tree. Holly would never know they were gone; how would she test without waste?

Artemis looked back at Holly. Her eyelids had begun flickering, hands moving to rub at her eyes.

Without any hesitation this time, he grabbed a stick and slammed it over her head. Her hands spasmed for a moment, then stilled. The eyelids stopped moving.

He began to trot from the clearing in a southerly direction, glancing up to take his bearings from the stars and lightening sky. The Book bounced against his chest, gleaming with a promise for war.

* * *

McGonagall slumped against the wall, hands fluttering up to her mouth. Holly had done it. She had actually done it. Kidnapped the most controversial boy since Salazar himself.

Flitwick looked up at her from his somewhat less lofty position. Clouds had gathered at his brow, creasing the already lined face until it resembled a decent piece of math homework. "Are you going to tell Dumbledore?"

McGonagall chose that moment to use her extensive vocabulary—to be specific, the word recently discovered today due to Fred and George. "Duh!" she said, exasperated as she threw her hands into the air. "Dumbledore could very well be the only one who can handle this!"

Flitwick, who seldom showed his crabby side in front of (considerably taller) students, scowled. "I meant more about your _involvement _in this."

Had any students been near, they would have been extremely surprised to see McGonagall blush slightly. "I did no such thing!" she thundered, crossing her arms. "Do you honestly think that _I _would kidnap my own _student_?"

Flitwick laughed. He had sat down on the only other chair in McGonagall's office. "I am sorry, Minerva, but you cannot blame me for thinking so."

She thought about it. "No," she responded quietly, walking over to her throne-like chair and sinking into the uncushioned surface. "No, you can't be blamed."

The minute man sunk further into the chair, wincing at the hardness of the seasoned oak. McGonagall wasn't a believer in luxury. "No, I didn't mean I that way—" he began, but was cut off by McGonagall.

"Stop it," she scolded, her tone like that that she used on her students. "It's been going to far. Dumbledore must be told."

Flitwick, with a sigh, leaned back as far as the stiff chair would let him. He wasn't concerned for McGonagall; she was easily one of the more capable witches he knew. He was concerned for Dumbledore. He might, for the first time in recent memory, become truly angry.

* * *

He was right, in a twisted way. Dumbledore turned exactly three shades of red that seem more at place in a Baroque painting.

It really was strange, in retrospect, seeing Dumbledore like this. Or McGonagall, for that matter. He couldn't be sure which of the two seemed more concerned when McGongall managed to 'spit out' the news.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. Unlike McGonagall, he liked his padding. Probably had something to do with his thinning frame. "Are you absolutely sure of this, Minerva?" he asked. Those were the first words anyone had said in five minutes.

She nodded wearily. She had left her living quarters at a run; her hat was missing and her longish silver-streaked black hair hung down her back raggedly. "Yes. I cast a small cantrip to see when Holly came in and out of building." Then, she hurriedly added, "Not on Ho—Captain Short herself, of course. That would kill her, especially when done by me. On her copy of the Book." There wasn't any brag to her words; they were simple facts. McGonagall was not a foolish witch who went around casting love spells all day.

Flitwick at McGonagall's side looked over the edge of Dumbledore's desk. He was no fool, but he was not a political midget. He could teach, he could cast spells like something from Beyond, and he knew how to decorate. That was that.

The corners of Dumbeldore's eyes crinkled, although there was very little smile to back him up. "You may go, if you so wish."

Flitwick wordlessly turned and left. Again, politics weren't his thing. It was a whole lot more complex than bespelling a worm to yodel.

When the slow groan of the spiral staircase stopped, McGonagall turned to Dumbledore again. Her eyes were inspected a strange contraption of silver spheres on his desk, as if it would provide an answer. "Now what?"

Dumbledore settled back in his chair with a faint sigh. "Exactly how intelligent is he?"

McGonagall blinked. "Fowl? I believe I can say with no doubt whatsoever he's the most brilliant student I've ever had."

"No," Dumbledore said slowly, "I meant Holly's companion."

McGonagall made fluttered shrug. "To be honest, I am not sure. I've never actually met him, but Hol—Captain Short complained about him quite a lot last time we met. Not very, but I can't be sure. Captain Short dislikes many things that we hold in high regard. Chocolate, for example."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised fractionally. "Chocolate?"

She sighed. It could be frustrating, when Dumbledore brought little things that didn't matter the slightest. However, she knew that behind the whimsical face dwelt a mind that spun like that funny spherical device on his desk. For those that have trouble visualizing vague descriptions, that's very fast. "Yes, chocolate. Their metabolism is more dependant on actual minerals than calories. It tastes disgusting to them, except to the rare few with eccentric tastes."

Dumbledore's mind caught up to the situation. "I assume that your locating spell is still in affect for the Book?"

She nodded. Her spells took more then the presence of alien magic to stop working.

He waited patiently until McGonagall put it together that she wanted to see where her friend was. Slightly flustered, she brought out her wand and sketched a quick map of Hogwarts and the surrounding area.

When she let the locating spell find its duplicate on the map, she gasped. Dumbledore just smiled.

A little red dot was moving, at a leisurely pace, towards Hogwarts.

* * *

A bit short, I know. Next chapter shall be considerably longer, if that makes it up to y'all.

Chapter four's editations are up. To those that wanted to have me email the updates; sorry but I can't do that anymore. I barely have time for this anymore.

I'm also a bit behind in replying to reviews. Refer to last chapter's rant.

Flitwick is a tad OOC for a reason. Ever notice how teachers act so different whe not in class (Or am I the only one 'round that has one for a x-country coach, one for a friend and one as a Sci-Oly coach?)

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	26. Double Trouble

Disclaimer: Gimme a break.

Chapter Twenty-five: Double Trouble (Corny title. Deal with it.)

* * *

Holly could not recall having more of a need for a hot-shot in her (short) life. It helped that those two nasty blows to the head had drained all of her magic and then some.

Yes, she recalled those two blows last night. Artemis would pay for those, make no mistake. Pay for them in more then just gold.

Holly had, more or less, resigned her vengeance for later. It didn't matter to her that it had always been later; a day later, a year later, as it always had been thought of since that near-fatal meeting that had started it all.

The thing that had perhaps most annoyed her was that Artemis managed to take her Book.

She had no idea why it hadn't exploded, rendering Artemis most delightfully unconscious and in great pain. She wasn't very savvy when it came to magic, or even technology—that was the region for Foaly and all those morons.

Yet, somehow, Holly was beginning to regret not paying attention to the _Forms of Magick_ class at the Academy. She might have been able to figure out those wands.

Grumbling to herself, Holly sat down on a convenient log, the ever-present wind of Faerie's Gambit little more than a murmur through her aphroed hair. Trouble should be coming along shortly with Juliet. Perhaps, if he pulled it off, they could use her as leverage against Artemis…

_That won't work! _she thought to herself, brow furrowing in frustration. _Artemis couldn't care less about someone else_.

That was true, in part. Artemis was developing something akin to hate towards the more frivolous of the Butler siblings, and her infrequent replies to his letters only increased this. Not that Holly knew that. All she knew was that Artemis was something that wasn't going to leave her mind anytime soon.

She picked herself up from the log again, pacing around the circle of half-rotted stumps that they had gathered in case they someday had need of company. Trouble would be coming back soon, true. The only reason why they hadn't gone out together to get each target was that one would be alerted if the other went missing, and probably do something about it. Either case would be bad.

Then why, despite all her attempts not to underestimate Artemis Fowl, was she coming up with bruises each time?

Grumbling to herself, Holly settled down to wait for Trouble.

* * *

Juliet sat down on her bed, brushing her hair lazily. She liked being a barmaid. For some strange reason, it gave her great pleasure to work in an establishment that didn't care is she was underage and somewhat evasive about her past. Spiked butterbeer tends to have that effect on people.

Still smiling, she let her tense back sink into the pillows. She felt very… _grown-up_, she supposed. Sure, she had to do several childish things to get Mary to help her repaint her room, especially after she had stolen her contacts and bent them all out of shape, but it was nice to have a job. Especially ones as easy as being a barmaid.

Juliet seemed, quite literally, perfect for the job. Madame Ko drummed near-photographic memory into her cadets, along with fast reflexes that proved so invaluable, either with sneaky fingers being where they weren't supposed to or cascading rains of delicate glass goblets (_The Three Broomsticks _occasionally played host to Hogsmeade weddings). She had a quick, open smile that easily could turn into a thousand-megawatt glare and ready charm. Not to mention a fine figure for a teenager.

She had even gotten a raise. She didn't know what Wizarding standards were for wages, but two Galleons an hour (plus tips) seemed like a handsome sum when one's working ten hours.

"Juliet?" Mary-Sue asked from her adjacent bedroom, her head poking out from around the edge of her door. The room seemed to shimmer from the blood-thumping cadence of _Witches Gone Wild_ ('The Weird Sisters'). "Can you help me braid my hair?

Juliet quirked her head, confused, then brought herself off her bed again. Mary usually did her hair herself, preferring complex weaves that were well beyond Juliet's repertoire of the French, spider and herringbone. Ah well.

Fast reflexes didn't help her much here; before she was even beyond the border of green carpeting a blow to her stomach doubled her over, and two quick successive ones behind each knee made her fold like a broken accordion.

She was in the process of getting up—Ko anticipated situations like this in her training—when something kicked her hard and fast in the head. Problem was, that foot didn't anticipate the sheer durability of Mud Maid skulls. They were, after all, a distant relative of the pachycephalosaurs.

Juliet groaned, but steeled her screaming muscles to snag the minute green foot that came swinging in for Round Two. Her nails, fake as they were, gripped the frictionless surface of the jumpsuit and yanked the accompanying body onto the floor.

"Take _that!_" Mary-Sue cried from her room, holding her fencing saber aloft. Juliet recognized that the tip was gleaming; she had taken off the safety cap.

"No!" Juliet cried from the floor, but she was unable to get up in time; the saber slashed down towards the figurine, sliding easily through his green outfit and out the other side into the plush violet carpet.

The younger Butler flipped her body up into standing position, shoving Mary onto her bed. The saber clattered to the ground.

"What the _hell _was that for?" Mary-Sue demanded, picking herself up from the indigo duvet. Her arms, already bedecked in a gauzy violet night robe, were crossed and her eyebrows raised in what she obviously thought to be a speculative manner.

Juliet ignored her, running through her mental list of What To Do. The… _thing _was incapacitated for the moment, using its magic sparks to stop the bleeding. At least, she thought that was what it was doing…

She kneeled down on the floor besides the moaning green man, ignoring Mary's continued stream of protests and demands. Better safe than sorry. The man's eyes were shut again with a quick knock to the head.

Juliet realized her mistake quickly; Step Three was to gather information from the would-be kidnapper/assassin.

Then she realized she skipped Two.

She swore loudly, directing Mary-Sue to keep the LEP agent from moving over her loud objections. Without looking back, she checked the perimeter in a most Butler-like fashion. The only real difference was that she was protecting a Principle that would rather be swept from her feet by a dashing young outlaw then stab it enough times that would be able to swear vengeance.

* * *

Artemis looked at Dumbledore's office, eyes tracing the spinning objects with mild curiosity. McGonagall had seemed terribly relieved when he was found walking towards the Great Hall for breakfast. She hadn't even stolen the oh-so-obvious Book from around his neck.

Still, she just _had _to bring him to Dumbledore before he had eaten. Starvation tended to dull his thoughts, if only a little.

Dumbledore wasn't even here yet, probably drinking his Pumpkin Juice with French toast and orange marmalade. He was mildly surprised that the Almighty Headmaster didn't get the food delivered to his office, although he had already analyzed this fully by the time that he saw the Sorting Hat.

Of course, the first thing that ran through his head was that Dumbledore had placed it front-and-center on purpose, just so he would have an excuse to lecture curious students. He was probably right, but curiosity could be an awful thing when the mind decided that no, it didn't want to analyze the odd spinning spheres on the desk, but the faded Hat instead.

He glanced at the door, then breathed a charm towards it that would alert him to activity below. The Hat shall be questioned.

When the Hat was over his ears, it immediately sank over his eyes, causing him to lift up his hands to lift it again.

_None of that, none of that_ _now._

Artemis blinked at the darkness, sneezing abruptly at the dust. The Hat was thinking to him. Of course. What else would it do, yodel?

_I can do that, when the occasion arises. Can actually talk too. This is just much easier. And by the way; Dumbledore takes his time with breakfast. He shall not be coming up here for another fifteen minutes. _

That predictable?

_Yes. The older, the more so. _

Artemis grinned suddenly at the darkness. Communication was only hampered by how fast he thought here.

_How often do you speak to students? _he asked.

_Quite often.__ Dumbledore likes the students to think for themselves occasionally, and question authority. Yes, even when it is his. Almost every student that has come through Hogwarts sneaks me on again. _

Artemis paused, letting the Hat read his thoughts.

_Slytherin__, eh?__ And you want to know why you _aren't _in it? Complicated answer, Fowl. _

_I don't care. We have time._

_True, true.__ Well, there is no question you wouldn't go into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor._

Artemis nodded inwardly. _Obviously.___

_That leaves Slytherin and Ravenclaw. To be blunt, you are very ambitious. On the other hand, you are very intelligent, probably the most so since Salazar himself slipped me over his head. _

_Then why am I in Ravenclaw? Everyone in the House is only… _book-smart

_Ravenclaw__ is more than 'book-smart' people, Fowl. You just don't get genii very often in the Wizarding world. We tend to leave that for Muggles or Fairies._

Artemis' heart skipped a beat. _You know about them?_

He could have sworn he heard the Hat's laughter in his thoughts. _Of course.__ Anyone who reads enough knows about them, and Dumbledore makes sure his employees are fully aware of their existence, if not necessarily their political status. _

_Which is?_

_Ministry is very anti-Fairies, as you probably already know. They even dislike ones that sundered from them thousands of years before they went underground. The Lorelei, for example, had been shot and imprisoned by Ministry officials._

_I thought it was an illusion, just a particularly dangerous rock on the __Rhine_

_Of course it is. She is an illusion in and of herself. That's what makes her so dangerous. It was a pity, though; Teleri was the last of her kind._

Artemis cleared his thoughts, trying to direct his mind towards something more constructive. Something that had been lurking in the back of his mind popped up before he could bring it back down.

_Ah, your father. It doesn't hurt to have a few weaknesses. Makes you human, you know. Don't be so ashamed of it._

_Is he… alive?_

_You could say that. The Ministry has been thinking about launching a rescue operation themselves, as he is the parent of a wizard. _

Artemis breathed a sigh of relief, which caught in his throat. _The Ministry… why would it help me?_

_Don't know. I'm not very good at politics. On Dumbledore's desk there is a letter that he was planning on giving you. It'll alert you to the possibility of your father being rescued. _

Artemis hesitated.

_Just lift the brim, but don't take this off. I like to see what's running through your mind. It's very fascinating._

He took the Hat of anyways. He didn't like the idea of anyone knowing what he would be planning, soloistic attitude or no.

_I said; don't take me o—_

The Hat slipped off easily, and was placed back on the shelf. It opened its brim for a moment, then was still.

Artemis mentally cursed himself as he crossed the room again. He shouldn't have let that go so far. It was fascinating, yes, and most certainly informative, but the Hat would undoubtedly tell Dumbledore of the whole exchange, and the many other thoughts that went unanswered. Did he really want the Headmaster to know that he was being poisoned?

He was there. For a few moments, he just stood there, slowing his suddenly hoarse breathing. The letter was there, true to the Hat's word. Right on top, even, and addressed to _Artemis Fowl the Second_.

Steeling himself for the worst, he picked up the letter, and began to read.

_"Artemis Fowl the Second_

_The Forbidden __Forest_

He allowed himself a nervous smile. It was written when Holly had been dragging him through the woods.

_"Your father, Artemis Fowl the First, has been declared dead by Muggle authorities, but we would like to inform you otherwise. He is alive, if not well, and being held hostage by the Russian Mafiya."_

"I knew it," he whispered to himself, looking up at the Hat in triumph.

Except something was between him and the Hat. It was Dumbledore.

* * *

Didn't get anywhere, really, with that chapter. Oh well.

Ch. 5 is still in the process of getting edited.

Obviously, the letter is a badly made _To Be Continued _(Which it shall be next week Saturday)

Sorry I had to change my policy regarding anonymous reviews. Some _people _decided it would be fun to get together and flame some of my tLotR workd because I gave a rather harsh critique. I got the reviews erased, as they did not pertain to the collection of poems at all (They didn't even know what _The SiIlmarillion _or _Unfinished Tales _was, since they had no idea that Galadriel might have ever been a nasty, ambitious kimosabe). Sorry. You can still email me if you don't have an account, though.

I'm done.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	27. Flight of the Bumblebee

_Triple update, as promised. The other two shall be tomorrow, since it's eleven and I really don't feel like editing the other two. _

_Another note: I wrote this in an odd mood. The style's all over the place, as it was with the above story. I blame it on all the Motrin I've been consuming lately (Which you may blame on X-Country, since I managed to get a leg injury at the peak of the season)._

_And I'm really behind in responding to reviews. Sorry again. X-Country has been taking up all my time lately._

Chapter Twenty-Six: Flight of the Bumblebee

* * *

Artemis' first thought was to run. Run and run and run until he came back to Butler, who could point a rifle at someone to cease whatever had been distressing the young Fowl.

But that was usually his first thought. He just did a really good job of suppressing his reflexes.

The second was to, in so many words, smile.

Artemis' smile did not have the effect he hoped it to have; Dumbledore's blue eyes crinkled at the corners. "Did I hold you long?" At his sides, arthritic fingers met behind his back, lacing together before the long robe of indigo cashmere—he was going to take a walk later through the grounds, and the practical solution was to dress warmly instead of having to resort to spells.

Artemis managed to shake his head, eyes never leaving Dumbledore's. "No. Fifteen minutes was plenty of time to collect my thoughts."

Dumbledore nodded sagely, and traversed the room, circling around Artemis to get to his desk. The letter in Artemis' hand magically reappeared in the envelope on the desk.

When he had seated himself in the throne-like chair—Artemis briefly wondered why all the teachers seemed to subconsciously obsess about being in power—he laced his hands together, leaning into the richly embroidered back of the chair. "I assume you managed to… 'knock out' Captain Short?"

Artemis' forehead wrinkled slightly. "Ah… yes, sir." He contemplated asking how he knew of Ho—Short, but decided against it in the end. He had to play his cards correctly here. Dumbledore was not an easy wizard to manipulate.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a few moments, giving Artemis a few more moments to organize the battle plan before opening them again. "And you are not hurt?"

"No, asides from a tear in my pajamas and a bruised nose."

He nodded. His beard came untucked from his belt, swaying slightly as he moved. "I shall send you to Madame Pomfrey later, after a change of clothes and some breakfast."

Artemis stood awkwardly, although he made sure is uncertainties did not pass through the mask of calm. After several moments, he asked, "Is that a dismissal?"

Dumbledore smiled again, leaning forward slightly. "Did you wish to tell me something?"

He weighed his chances, mind toeing the start line of a thousand possibilities. He had many questions which the Hat had not chosen to answer the way he had meant, and many questions the Hat had not pulled from his mind. Believe it or not, not all of them were concerned with that infamous _Aurum EST Potestas_.

Blinking to clear his eyes—he wanted to see every move Dumbledore made—he asked, "How do you know Captain Short?"

Dumbledore's brows drew together like curtains in the evening. "Captain Michael Short of the Londonderry Militia? I believe I bumped into her once at the Ministry—"

_He's testing me_, Artemis realized suddenly. _He wants to see how I react_.

He decided to play this particular game. Manipulation was, after all, the only thing that required more than a second's thought in the morass of Hogwarts. "I mean Captain Holly Short of the Lower Elements Police Reconnaissance, and you know that, Dumbledore. Do not evade my questions."

Dumbledore appeared amused for a few seconds, but the merriment faded from his eyes nonetheless. "That is a complicated question, Mister Fowl, which could perhaps be better answered by McGona—"

Artemis cut in again, cold and crisp as a freshly calved iceberg, "I know that. I am not stupid, however much you consider me to be. How do you know of the People?"

He appeared almost startled, giving Artemis an unexpected jolt of diabolic glee. _Who's manipulating who now? _When he had recovered, he leaned back again. "Again, Mister Fowl, that is a complicated question. I assume you have _The Calling_?"

"Of course, sir," Artemis responded, sounded shocked. Inwardly, he rubbed his hands together in another metaphoric shot of morphine. He was enjoying this very much indeed.

"Then you are familiar with Salazar's commentary of the Iron Wars?"

He nodded. _Duh,_ his appearance said, obviously bored (Black pajamas and all). His mind, on the other hand, analyzed each word, filing them in his memory for further investigation later.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Then you know the Ministry's policy towards the Fairy People."

Translation: _The Ministry told me, you dimwit. Next question._

Artemis' face remained impassive as he decided what to do next. Then: "What are the descendants of the People?"

Dumbledore seem thrown off by this question. Just as Artemis intended. "In what sense?"

"Scientific and Mythological, if you please."

The Headmaster considered it for a few moments. Artemis could not fathom what was going on behind the blue eyes and wrinkled skin. "I am not sure about the 'scientific' way," he said slowly, "as I am not a Muggle. Wizards generally believe that they are descendants—bastards, if you will—of the domesticated House Elves."

Artemis could not resist a snort of laughter. He very much doubted that.

He regretted this almost instantly—he had been letting his guard down too much when in the company of those that would judge him on a moment's infraction.

Dumbledore gave no sign of recognizing Artemis' mistake, instead continuing. "I personally believe that they are entirely independent of the House Elves, but I am no Muggle scientist. I encourage you to do your own investigations."

Artemis nodded, somewhat stiffly. "_Merci beaucoup_. I was wondering about that."

There was several more moments with only the spherical device—Artemis would have paid quite a lot of money to learn what it really did—for sound.

"Anything else?" Dumbledore asked eventually. Beneath somewhat bushy eyebrows, the blue eyes stared impassively.

Artemis thought about it. _Anything else I want to manipulate the senile old fool into believing_?

"No. But thank you.I shall see Pomfrey on the way back to my dormitory." He turned to leave, the torn sleeve of his black pajamas exposing him to the chilly air of mid October. Dumbledore apparently didn't believe in warm temperatures for quick minds.

"McGonagall shall probably wish to speak with you as well, about your… experience."

Artemis half-turned, nodded again, and left.

Only when he was in the hallway again did he allow himself to smile openly.

Despite the fact he had only gotten half the cuts on his feet cleaned up—Filch would be so pleased with the faint bloodstains that seemed intent on following Artemis—he managed to walk quickly. Discipline could be such a useful thing. It helped with that annoying sense we tend to call _pain_.

Still… he had _won! _Perhaps not in that HA!-I-finished-the-race-first! sense, but in that wonderful, _wonderful _way of just simply knowing he had outmaneuvered the greatest Wizard in a thousand years.

Artemis smile broadened, not even changing as a ghost crossed the corridor in front of him. He had managed to salvage the situation beautifully, even fooling Dumbledore into thinking that little spark that happened to be fond of his father was more a candle-flame than something that occasionally burnt the skin.

And how Dumbledore blundered! First showing perfect knowledge of the LEP, but then denying their existence before going back on his own statements! Yes, Artemis certainly came out the better of that short _escrime_.

He had learned things too, things that would require extensive calculation once he had the time. Dumbledore had read _The Calling_. Obviously, there was more than one copy in the world. Not only that, but _The Calling _was something that was extremely disapproved of by both Ministry policy and Fairy.

Was Dumbledore playing around with Dark Magic? And, more importantly, was he involved in that lovely conspiracy that messed with history that really did want to be left alone?

Artemis thought he knew the answer. The wrong one, yes, but an answer nonetheless. The question mattered considerably more.

* * *

Dumbledore smiled at door to the stairwell, his fingers laced together. "He was quite… interesting. Don't you think so?"

The Hat's brim opened up in a smile. "Yes, he most certainly is, Albus."

Dumbledore smiled too. Few people could resist talking to the Hat. Even he, all those long years ago when he was a student, had had a chat with that lowly bowler hat with the ink stain on the front. "Is he dangerous?" he asked eventually, reaching for a quill and parchment.

"Yes," the Hat replied, smiling again, "oh yes. He could conquer the world if he had a mind to. He and ol' Riddle would have a fascinating conversation. They're really quite alike."

Albus frowned, his arthritic hand writing the beginning of a letter in elegant, spider-like handwriting. "You said that about me too," he stated pointedly, raising his voice accusationally.

"I know," replied the Hat. "You had ambitions too when you were his age."

"But I didn't act upon them," Dumbledore said sharply. The letter gained a dark emerald splotch.

Had the Hat shoulders, it would have shrugged. "And young Mister Fowl is a very different type of genius from you, Salazar and all the other greats. Think about it for a few moments."

Dumbledore did. He didn't like what he came up with.

"Dear Lord," he whispered into the parchment. There, half-written and still drying, was, _Dear Angeline Fowl_. "He's out for the Fairy's blood."

This wasn't strictly true, but the heart of the matter was. Artemis couldn't care less about the human race, or its close ancestors.

* * *

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently against the floor. "Where is he?" she muttered to herself. Her stubby fingers, splotched with ink, drummed against her crossed arms.

Ron gave Harry a funny look. Not funny, really; more of that, _I think she's finally cracked_ look that the brains of the operations too often get.

Hermione wasn't the brain of this particular idea. She would willingly admit that it was utterly stupid and had no brains involved in it, which, although certainly not the most conceited thing to say, was true.

She glanced at her NoSlow Watch that had been specialized for working in magic-thick areas that normal mechanical devices tended to break down in. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she turned to Harry and Ron and demanded, "Did you see him at breakfast?"

Harry shook his head numbly, glancing anxiously down the dungeons corridor. He didn't want to be late to Potions, since Snape had been in a particularly bad mood yesterday. "No, 'mione, I didn't. But why are we standing out here?"

Hermione didn't answer, although she had to bite her lip to avoid a scathing rejoinder for that hated nickname. After sighing again, she began to walk briskly towards Potions.

Ron turned to Harry, catching his gaze. _What is it? _He mouthed, brow furrowed. He had a right to be confused; Hermione had been acting… peculiar lately. She hadn't even been paying attention to Transfiguration class, instead spending half the hour staring at the back of Fowl's head.

Harry almost snickered as he came up with an idea. _Tell you later_, he mouthed back, diving around the corner of the Potions class. Snape, thankfully, wasn't there to see his crate of Newt Tails scatter across the floor. __

_We need to talk to her_, Ron replied, adding a jut of his thumb towards Hermione. Malfoy sniggered as Hermione tripped over his outstretched foot on her way to the front of the class.

"I know," Harry whispered back, and bent down to pick up the glittering blue newt tails off the floor.

Hermione, after frowning at her bookbag for a few moments, brought out a copy of _The Calling_ and began to read.

Madame Pince could be so accommodating sometimes.

* * *

Vaguely confusing. _Désolées_.

As a bit of shameless advertising, I believe that most of you would enjoy _Katydid Kata_. Some delightful Artemis angst, and a fairly good plot that could have been multi-chaptered. Find it in my AF collection _today_! Insert salesperson voice

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	28. Snake Oil Salesman

_Sorry about the slow update speed._

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Snakeoil Salesman

* * *

Hermione would never know it, but Snape was only late because he was converging on Dumbledore's office, along with a half-dozen or so other teachers.

Dumbledore wanted them. It was rare that he called a staff meeting in the middle of classes; need had seldom been so urgent that it couldn't wait until the end of the day, and never in Snape's brief years at Hogwarts.

He smiled slightly when he passed the Bloody Baron in the hallway, giving him a brief nod before continuing. The ghosts would be presiding over the classes, which would be a delightful thing to watch. Even Peeves, who was horrible at best as far as Severus was concerned, got to watch the Divinations which would be a sight that he would pay a gold Galleon for. Maybe even two.

The smile, however small, reversed itself when McGonagall swept into the corridor besides him from her Transfiguration classroom.

They made it exactly twelve feet before Snape could not contain a snide remark. "This is your little friend's doing, is it not?"

McGonagall did not give him the grace of her glare. "If you are referring to Holly, yes."

Severus smirked. He liked getting beneath McGonagall's skin, since he couldn't do so with other, less interesting, teachers like Sprout or Flitwick, who did not even ponder Snape's barbed slips anymore. "And what did she do this time? Steal food from the kitchen?"

Minerva's fists clenched at her sides. "No. She was following orders from her government to kidnap Artemis Fowl."

Snape was taken aback, despite himself. It took several moments to manage gain control over his barbed tongue again. "For what? A Samain-eve sacrifice to their pagan gods?"

McGonagall snapped in less than her usual time. "This is beyond you, Severus. I don't even know why Albus wanted you to come."

"Yes, you do," Snape replied oily. His quickened his pace to keep up with McGonagall.

"Because you were once a Death Eater? Oh yes, what an honor, what _pride _you must take in knowing that is your sole reason in going to these."

That clout struck home, and cruelly so. Snape's arm lashed out, catching the black sleeve of McGonagall's overrobe. "That was a low blow, _Minerva_, even for you. Your past was far from pure either."

McGonagall regarded the clenched fist in mild interest, deftly plucking it from her arm. "Really. What have I done that's taken me deeper than you?"

Snape smirked, regaining his composure as he began to walk down the corridor again. "Fraternizing with the enemy."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed, although they continued to look straight ahead. "The Fairies are hardly our enemies. They haven't done anything to us."

"According to the Ministry, they are. And don't you remember the lovely little Iron Wars affair? I would think that long-loved friend of yours would."

They turned the corner, beginning to ascend the stairs that would bring them to the floor Dumbledore's office was located on. "She's only eighty, Severus. She doesn't even know what the Iron Wars _are_, except for some vague battles that we fought against them, _but she thinks it's all over_. They all do, and we almost all do." She sniffed the air. "The ones that remember are just being a bunch of politicians."

Snape saw the logic in this, although he would never admit it to McGonagall of _Gryffindor._ He knew politics. Politics had been what had kept him from Azkaban, true, but it had also cost him, not his literal life, but what made life bearable. Honor.

"Fine," he conceded at last, turning into the niche that held Dumbledore's guard-gargoyle. "Those same _politicians_, however, only allow ignorance as an excuse pass when it goes their way."

She nodded. "Kudos."

The gargoyle grinned at her, and slid to the side to reveal the spiral staircase.

McGonagall continued as she walked up the stairs. Snape followed. "I know we aren't friends, Severus, but don't be acting the hero here. These are very big matters that can very well decide the rest of our lives."

"Or the lack of," Snape cut in dryly.

McGonagall shot him a withering look, hitching up the trailing bottom of her Emerald Isle-green robes. "My point is, Severus, that this isn't something that you can dive into and risk everything. This is, again _politics_."

Snape frowned. "Risks must be taken in war," he said quietly.

"Not when it costs you your life," McGonagall replied sharply.

Severus smiled oily. "Minerva, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't."

Before he had a chance to respond, McGonagall opened the door to Dumbledore's office. Snape smiled when he noticed that she did so in a somewhat faster fashion than usual.

The Office, as it was simply referred to by teachers and seasoned students alike, was made painfully obvious in that fact that it was not meant to hold so many people at once. The teachers, even the transparent Binns, had crowded around Dumbledore's desk like turkeys before a TV in a slaughterhouse. Snape was thankful that he was not remotely canine; the room was probably rank with fear.

McGonagall and Snape pushed themselves to the front of the crowd, firmly ignoring protests from younger or simply less spell-savvy teachers.

"Minnie! What is all this nonsense about a war?"

McGonagall winced as a hand dug into her arm. One of the younger teachers, Talia Ridder, was helping the Arithmancy professor Vector grade the complex idiosyncrasies of the upper-level classes. She was brilliant, certainly, and young, but she was the sort that dyed her hair a brilliant red and added levitating spells to her eyelashes.

Something that McGonagall found infinitely irritating about the girl was that she insisted on calling her _Minny_. Had she been a historian and knew who _Minnie _was, she would take that and all Tantric connotations with it.

"I know as much about it as you do," McGonagall replied coolly, nudging the red-faced Hooch from in front of her.

Dumbledore was not saying or doing anything, instead letting the questions bombarding him flow over like a cool glacial stream. His eyes were closed, the half-crescent glasses on the brink of his nose. If she didn't already know better, she would have said that he was sleeping.

As soon as McGonagall swept in front of his desk, his blue eyes opened, crinkling at the corners. _I was waiting for you_, he seemed to say.

She smiled at him, and turned towards the small flock of teachers. "Quiet!" she snapped imperiously, her hands akimbo. "Albus is _trying _to say something!"

Behind her back, Dumbledore smiled to himself as he straightened his spectacles. Minerva never changed.

He remained seated, but the crowd hished as he readied himself to speak. "You may wish to find someplace to sit," he murmured.

As if by magic—bud pun—fourteen chairs dropped in a semicircle around Dumbledore's desk. Thirteen seated themselves like the children they taught (Binns had to content himself with floating in the chair).

Vecter regarded the chairs with mild surprise, twisting her body around to examine the rest of the teachers' chairs. "My seventh-years were using these," she said to Dumbledore, frowning.

Albus smiled at the Arithmancy witch. "They all decided they would do a better job studying at the lake, apparently. No one was in your classroom."

Vecter frowned again, but settled back into her chair, adjusting her prim black robes so they covered her feet.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of him, watching the staff over the brim of his glasses. "I'm sure you're all aware that Artemis Fowl was kidnapped last night from his dormitory."

Thirteen nods. McGonagall tapped her fingers impatiently against her thigh.

"And that the kidnapper was not Russian, as the students seemed inclined to believe. Elfin, in fact, if Minerva told me correctly."

Although a few gazes turned towards McGonagall accusationally, the majority turned to each other, mouthing horror and disbelief. Talia Ridder fingered her violently red locks anxiously, wondering if she should dye them the more suitable black.

Dumbledore raised his hand, which brought about an instant silence. "I have told the Ministry of this, as I had to. Dippet," he gestured towards the portrait on the wall, who nodded curtly back, "tells me that Fudge is thinking about war."

Before they could break out in outraged whispers, Dumbledore raised his hand again. "I know that you all feel rather strongly about this, but no decision has been reached yet. If the Ministry decides that war would be best, then we shall be the first to know."

He let his hand down, and probably regretted it instantly. All fourteen teachers rose from their chairs in unison, all trying to get an answer out of Dumbledore at once. Several of the nearby portraits did the same, equally curious.

McGonagall's voice rose above the rest, silencing the other teachers. "Where is Fowl?"

"In his dormitory, I should expect." Dumbledore frowned to himself. "No… he's in Potions."

Snape looked over at McGonagall. "Really," he said to no one in particular. "A little quick of him after a life-threatening experience."

Ridder elbowed 'Minny' aside, placing her hands squarely on the desk. "What about the students?" she demanded, gazing down imperiously at Dumbledore. He didn't falter, but she did. "What are we supposed to tell them?"

"The truth," Albus stated, and turned to Snape. "No, your services are not needed at the moment for any type of subterfuge. You will stay _here_, like every other professor here." He looked at each of the teachers in turn. "Is that understood."

McGonagall opened and shut her mouth several times before managing a sentence. "The Ministry will probably want me."

"You heard me, Minerva," he said quietly. "You will be staying here."

McGonagall looked down, her hand going to her forehead. "I should see to my students," she murmured, and left.

Dumbledore didn't protest, instead turning to other teachers. He would not be able to deal with Artemis himself by the way things were turning out; McGonagall could probably do a perfectly reasonable job.

* * *

Dumbledore was slightly incorrect when he stated that Artemis was in Potions. In fact, he was on his way there.

He had cleaned himself off as best he could, showering and performing a Healing Charm on his scraped feet before dressing in his Hogwarts regalia. After nabbing a few of Spader's Chocolate Frogs—the dark-chocolate variety, Artemis was pleased to note—he began his way down to Potions.

He had never been in the Hallways before where it was entirely empty; no matter how late he made himself to breakfast, there was always an unfortunate few that shared the hallway with him. It was hardly a bad thing, though; he could have his own thoughts without the threat of 'polite conversation'.

His doubts about Dumbledore had begun to whisper about halfway through his shower. The Headmaster was ancient, and had been dealing with people like him for more years than what Artemis weighed. What is he had been the manipulator all along?

But then the smug part of Artemis would answer, _He has never had to deal with someone like me before. No one has._

_Am I so sure? _his doubts would respond, stopping his hand halfway to the bottle of shampoo. _I'm only a genius by Muggle standards. How do I know that someone like me doesn't come along every year in Hogwarts?_

The next answer would come like a big _DUH_, which it really was. _Granger's considered the best witch in a century, nitwit, and she hasn't half the IQ I have. _

And it would go on, arguing through those endless spirals of logic and the lack thereof. Although Artemis would like to think he was right in the first place, those little niggling doubts had those nasty parasitic attributes which made them survive no matter what the species.

That little spiral was about to touch on, _But what about him not even minding where I went next? He had to have been planning something…_ when McGonagall clasped him firmly on the shoulder.

Artemis spun around, hand instinctually going to his wand before letting it fall back to his side. "What?"

McGonagall smiled thinly, guiding Artemis to the nearest empty classroom (Arithmancy). "I think you know exactly _what_, Mister Fowl, and don't give me that look. Dumbledore wasn't anymore fooled by it than me."

_Told you_, his doubts whispered.

Artemis pulled himself away from McGonagall brushing her hand off his shoulder. "Has the Ministry declared war yet?"

The look on her face was something between supreme weariness and disgust. "No, thank God!" she said vehemently, opening the door after unlocking it with _Alohamora_.

Artemis cocked his head, thinking for a moment. "Was it the Council then? Fudge always struck me as the more aggressive of the two, but it could ve—"

"Fowl, _be quiet_."

Artemis did, for perhaps the first time in his life, and let himself be led into the classroom.

McGonagall shut the door quietly, and then turned to face him. The lines on her face seemed deeper than before, etched like the letters on a gravestone. Artemis regretted his actions, momentarily. "Sit."

He did, choosing one of the more stiff-backed seats. His hands folded in his lap.

McGonagall chose Vecter's seat, which was padded considerably. She leaned back into it gratefully, closing her eyes for a few moments.

Artemis, meanwhile, stared at the chalkboards lining the room with interest, eyes drinking in the complex equations like a connoisseur would a fine wine. "Can I test into this? It looks far more interesting."

McGonagall opened her eyes, glaring at Fowl. "Be quiet, _please_. Short's coming, and I need to be strong enough to do a Confundus Charm on Filch."

"Bespelling fellow teachers is hardly a nice thing to do."

McGonagall closed her eyes again. "Don't try to think about it, Mister Fowl. Your brain will probably overheat."

Artemis saw he wasn't going to get an answer out anytime soon. Sighing inwardly, he continued to study the equations. Seventh-year Arithmancy certainly looked a good deal more interesting than the rest of Hogwarts, Holly Short coming or no.

_

* * *

_

Sorry. Another TBC.

Screw update times. I'm just going to update this whenever I feel like it, since my poor original stuff is suffering. (Arilyn's been trapped in an enemy city for almost a year now, and she hasn't budged a bit)

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


	29. Tiramisu

Life is annoying. It gets in the way of updating.

Ah, and the more picky of you will notice that I switched the fandom. It'll be oscillating, just because it _does _have Harry Potter stuff in it as well (However hard that is to believe.)

No triple-update. I've been terribly irresponsible – I am now a full-fledged fanatic for Lunalelle's Hermione-Voldemort fics _A Dangerous Game _and _Abyss_, which are a lot better than they sound. I highly recommend them; hard to beat something that quotes _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_, right?

No, the three-quarters of the chapter is not stalling. Techy El Nerd may be slightly happy since I have now shown the reason why Juliet has been increasingly OOC lately.

_Chapter Twenty-Eight: Tiramisu_

* * *

Juliet looked at the man on the coach warily, trying to decide what to do next. After looking up the appropriate spell, she had healed the saber wound Mary had inflicted, although it took five tries and a partial sponge bath to get the level-five acid off of him from the failed attempts. At the moment, he snored off a Sleeping Charm that would probably wear off within minutes, by Mary's enunciated insult about her wand-waving abilities.

She looked him over again, as if just to check if he was not just a particularly diminutive human. After the unsealed helmet had been removed—she personally suspected Fairy technology didn't work out here either, which made her grateful to be on even footing—it had been revealed that he had short-cropped brown hair, greenish-brownish eyes that remained open after unconsciousness, and that he drooled while he snored.

She absently leaned over and wiped his face with a moist towel, fiddling with her now combed and braided hair. She was considerably calmer, now that she had sent an owl to Artemis and Mary-Sue had been sent off the Three Broomsticks to make her excuses. She knew she should be checking the perimeter again, but she was increasingly paranoid about her lack of spell-casting ability, and how it would affect her prisoner.

Juliet checked the arms and legs again, just to make sure they were tied. After tentatively checking to make sure there was a layer beneath, she had taken off the sleek LEPrecon jumpsuit and threw it in a corner for later delivery to Artemis. As a result, 'Trouble' Kelp—she was positive she translated that wrong—was completely devoid of any weapons besides rather small fists. Oh, and a barbed tongue. In her limited experience, the smaller the person the wilier the words.

She checked the clock, twirling her braid again. Six in the morning. No reply from Artemis. Mister Trouble was not awake. Mary-Sue was at work—presumably—and wouldn't be easy to dissuade from waitress-mode. Butler was hundreds of miles away. Mummy and Daddy were probably training for a marathon in Arabia. Ko was thoroughly enjoying ruining another recruit's ego.

And she was here, watching the drool trickle down Santa's little helper's chin. She almost missed the days where she would whine at Artemis that he should eat the caviar before it went bad. Almost – then, she wasn't given pay just in case the worst did indeed happen.

So what if she wouldn't be around to enjoy the pay? Up in Heaven, or Paradise or whatever the truth managed to be, she would see dear Dommie spending some five million dollars in compensation on new toys. What could be more delightful than that?

_A lot of things_, she thought grumpily to herself, now unbraiding her hair. _A new roommate would be especially nice. _Now that she had been given ample time to think things over—two months is more than enough, even for a teenager—she had decided Mary-Sue was really just a git. Honestly, _purple contacts_?

She stared at Trouble moodily, rebraiding now in a herringbone pattern Mary had taught her. Mary-Sue was unquestionably vain. That had been fine back in September, since she had been so too. Now, she was different—still a bit vain, but she could see it, like a little infant could see an ant hill. Problem was, she couldn't crawl out of the carriage and squish it. It would cause such a fuss.

Trouble stirred, the thin tendril of drool getting larger as his mouth open. "Ughhhh," he moaned, his eyelashes fluttering like moths with their wings partially hacked off.

Juliet leapt forward, wiping the drool off his chin before it could drop onto Mary's plush lavender duvet. "My name is Juliet Alexandria Butler. You, my little munchkin-man, are in my custody."

She remembered that she wasn't supposed to give away her name, in case he did escape. _I need to go back to Ko's…_ she thought, surprising herself with the longing quality. She never thought she would like hard-core conditioning more than pestering people.

Trouble's eyes closed. She could almost see the thoughts running through his mind: _D'Arvit__. Caught by a girly. What will Mummy say?_

She was wrong, in that respect. His thoughts were more like something from a rap song that even hard-core fans of Eminem would flinch at.

"Do you know what you're doing, Mud Maid?" he asked, almost quietly.

Juliet was surprised; Artemis had said that the brown-haired one—now she remembered that his name was, indeed Trouble, and that he had written extensively about him—swore a lot, and was very cocky. "Er… yeah."

He smiled partially. _Was he high or something? _Juliet wondered. This wasn't anything like the last time she had imprisoned a Fairy. Holly was slamming her bed into the floor, for God's sake! "Did you know that a war's going to be declared about this?"

She blinked twice. "A war?" she asked stupidly, staring at him. He hadn't moved at all; in fact, he seemed to be unaware of the fact he was trussed up like a Christmas hog.

"Yep. And when Holly comes here, you'll be sorry. I think even your idiot Mud Master'll be mad."

She relaxed. Now she was on steady ground. "There, you're wrong. Last time we mailed each other he told me to hold any and all Fairies hostage until further notice. And you look like a Fairy to me."

He twisted his body so he was sitting up in the bed, making it look extremely easy in the process. Juliet scooted her chair back and gripped her wand. _If he lunges, just say Stupefy and point_, she reminded herself. "If you are Juliet Butler, then where is Fowl?"

She tensed, knowing the bomb shell was hovering over her head. "At Hogwarts," she replied confidently.

"Funny," he said airily, "because Holly now has him at Faerie's Gambit, waiting for LEPretrieval to take him down for a mind wipe."

"Funny," Juliet said, "because Artemis just sent me his reply."

It was true; a black owl swooped into Mary's room, entering from the violently green hallway, dropped a piece of parchment, and flew back out without waiting for a reply.

She caught the letter deftly, pointing the wand at Trouble just in case he decided to move. Still using only one-hand, she split the wax seal and unfurled it.

_"Juliet—_

_If that idiot-of-a-blonde with the purple contacts is reading this, tell her that the cats are eating the rabbit down the street somewhere._

_I have been the victim of another kidnapping, although it was obviously unsuccessful. However, this action had apparently given some politicians the excuse for war. After an… ah, discussion of this with McGonagall and Holly, they are convinced that this will elevate to a global scale and cause massive death counts on all three involved parties. Although this deed shall benefit me, I need you to do the following:_

_Get rid of Mary-Sue. I do not want her around as a distraction. Then, disguise yourself using your Russian alias we used last year and go to Fowl Manor. Make it look as if you were kidnapped. Take Muggle transportation—the Ministry and the Council will not check this as quickly—and go to Fowl Manor. Personally inform __Butler__ of the situation, but not Madame Fowl—I do not want her involved. She must remain completely untainted. _

_Leave within the hour, and go to your parents. Do not attempt to contact me. Do not tell __Butler__ where you are going. Do not leave any trace. I know you are not as foolish as you have been acting lately, Juliet. Do not act like an American teenager just because you dress like one. I know you are a __Butler__ inside._

_Oh, and Kelp: I understand you live next to the Shrieking Shack. No, there are no ghosts in it. However, I have discovered that there is a passage that leads from Hogwarts to it. Incapacitate Kelp, and, after tying him securely, leave immediately. I shall take care of him presently._

_—Artemis Fowl the Second_

_Do not fail me."_

Juliet almost let the letter fall, but she caught herself just in time. She quickly created some Bluebell Flames, and held the now-burning letter out in mid-air so it would not scorch her more than necessary.

Trouble looked at her. Juliet wondered for the umpteenth time if he was on something—he sounded absolutely nothing like the curtly outlined Trouble in Artemis' letter about the original attempt. "Don't kill me," he stated bluntly. His face betrayed no emotion.

Unexpectantly, Juliet found herself channeling her cocky, former self. "Okay." She drew back a slightly carbon-streaked hand, and let the blow fall.

Trouble didn't stand a chance against a Butler, however muddled her mind was at the present. He slumped backward, head clanging sharply on the light lavender wall before sliding down to the considerably softer bed.

She wasted no time. After snatching the edge of Mary's gauzy canopy, she ripped a long piece off of it. She gagged Trouble firmly, after making sure the purely aesthetic material was not as weak as it looked, and tossed him over her shoulder.

She was mildly surprised at the weight. Trouble weighed less than any single one of her suitcases.

Inspiration struck her at that thought. She raced into her own room, dragged an almost coffin-shaped piece of luggage out and dropped Trouble in, wincing as his head snapped against the metal edging. No one would take a second glance at the suitcase, even if it was a violent shade of hot pink. They would at a diminutive man in a white insulating suit with pointy ears and a very crimson leg.

Without pause, she pulled out another suitcase and began throwing things in it—her boxing gloves, most sensible clothes, jade hair-ties—

She stopped at that, fingering the gently glowing jade pieces pensively. After Mary-Sue had seen her sudden fervor to replace everything with green, she had dipped into Juliet's paint fund and bought her Wizard-style hair ties. Unlike Muggle ones, which Juliet found perfectly fine, these glowed slightly, giving them more life, and never knotted up the hair at all. In fact, hair with them in it never snarled. She wore it to bed, although she continued to brush her hair out of sheer habit.

Holding these simple reminders of an unpretentious life, she leaned over the suitcase and began to sob.

In the window, an iridescent sapphire bird stopped singing to the whispering morning wind, and flew on to a less conspicuous host.

* * *

Artemis crossed his arms, thoroughly enjoying the exchange. "So your… _Council _has never been actually questioned?"

Holly glared at him again, as if just one more time might actually get him to be quiet. Predictably, it didn't. "No, but that's because they have never made a mistake."

"Extremely unlikely, my dear Holly. No one is perfect."

"Even you," Holly growled back, firmly looking at the complex Arithmancy equations without bothering to try and understand them. She pretended to ignore the _dear_; last time he had said that she had offered him a free flying lesson on the Hogwarts Grounds, and she didn't want to get into any more trouble than she already was by following up on her word. Shameful, she knew, but she didn't think Artemis would note this.

They were waiting for McGonagall to return with Dumbledore. By the length of time they had been left alone in the room, it would be a while. Not that any more would matter—they had _discussed_ the now-official war until the students has been sent down to their dorms.

Artemis allowed himself a small, infuriating smile. "Especially me."

"Modesty, Mud Boy? My my my, are you growing a soft spot?"

"No. I simply know my own limitations." His eyes traced the equations Holly seemed set on memorizing. "Ah, the set Vecter came up with ten years ago. Do you know what they do?"

"Take a wild guess, Mud Boy." The voice was edged with anger, with the threat of actually following up with the previous promise.

Artemis looked squarely at Holly. "My guess is that you're avoiding issues."

Holly turned to him, face aghast. "Excuse _me?_ _I'm _avoiding issues? You're the one causing wars!"

"As I recall, you were the one who kidnapped me."

Her fists curled around the edges her seat, and the rest of her muscles tensed with withheld anger. She had been working on discipline, as well as plotting in general. Neither came to much avail. "You were the one who asked for it."

"Really? I do not recall asking for you."

"You started it!" she whispered fiercely. She let go of the seat's edges, and faced Artemis across the aisle. Artemis vaguely pictured a kitten hissing at a lion. "You kidnapped me, and you started it!"

"Did I?" Artemis asked, lacing his fingers together on his lap. "It is true that I started that, and ended it, but what about this? I did nothing; you struck first, which _is against your laws_."

Holly suddenly wished for McGonagall to come back, even if she would come with a confirmation on the war. "You started it," she insisted stubbornly.

This annoyed Artemis slightly, although he did not show it. If anything, he considered people that could not see past their own pride below him. Holly was rapidly beginning to be slip down into that status. "You started it, _mademoiselle_," he said softly, "and that Council of yours made you."

Holly stuck her nose into the air, and turned so she was facing the equations again. "Bologna," she said, but there was no conviction behind the statement.

She had let Artemis get beneath her skin again. And, salting that deep wound, was the fact that he was right, rubbed it in but didn't act upon it.

"I hate you," she muttered under her breath.

Artemis only smiled, and turned back to study the equations. Par one, and only five rounds to go.

* * *

Holly's a bit off in this chapter. _Desolée_.

One-hundred points to the favorite house of whomever can find the five things that lovely little bird represents. _Mes__ aimées au lycée_ could only find three each.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper


End file.
